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JFictuin, JTact, anb Janes Series 

Edited by Arthur Stedman 


THE MASTER OF SILENCE 


-fiction, fact, anir fancy Series. 


MERRY TALES. 


By Mark Twain. 


THE GERMAN EMPEROR AND HIS EASTERN 
NEIGHBORS. 

By Poultney Bigelow. 


SELECTED POEMS. 

By Walt Whitman. 


DON FINIMONDONE : CALABRIAN 
SKETCHES. 

By Elisabeth Cavazza. 

THE MASTER OF SILENCE: A ROMANCE. 
By Irving Bacheller. 

Other Volumes to be Announced. 


Bound in Illuminated Cloth, each, 75 Cents. 

1 « 

*** For Sale by all Booksellers , or sent postpaid, on re- 
ceipt of price, by the Publishers, 

CHAS. L. WEBSTER & 00., NEW YORK. 


The Master of Silence 


3. Uomaitcc 


BY 

IRVING BACHELLER 


Nsar 1822 

L j-nf \ 


N'ctu Work 

CHARLES L. WEBSTER & CO. 
1892 




Copyright, 1892, 

CHARLES L. WEBSTER & CO, 

(All rights reserved , .) 


PRESS OF 

Jenkins & McCowan, 

NEW YORK. 


THE MASTER OF SILENCE 


CHAPTER I 

"TVT EAR the end of my fourteenth year I 
^ ^ was apprenticed to Valentine, King & 
Co., cotton importers, Liverpool, as a “pair 
of legs.” My father had died suddenly, leav- 
ing me and his property in the possession of 
my stepmother and my guardian. It was in 
deference to their urgent advice that I left my 
home in London (with little reluctance, since 
my life there had never been happy) to study 
the art of money-making. On arriving at the 
scene of my expected triumphs I was assigned 
to the somewhat humble position of errand 
boy. In common with other boys who per- 
formed a like service for the firm I was known 
as “a pair of legs.” Lodgings of a rather 
modest character had been secured for me in 
the western outskirts of the city near the banks 
of the Mersey. I was slow to make friends, 
s 


6 


THE MASTER OF SILENCE 


and my evenings were spent in the perusal of 
some story books, which I had brought with me 
from London. One night, not long after the 
beginning of my new life in Liverpool, I was 
lying in bed listening to the wind and rain 
beating over the housetops and driving against 
the windows, when suddenly there came a loud 
rap at my door. 

“Who’s there?” I demanded, starting out of 
bed. 

As I heard no answer, I repeated my inquiry 
and stood a moment listening. I could hear 
nothing, however, but the wind and rain. 
Lighting a candle and dressing myself with all 
haste, I opened the door. I could just discern 
the figure of a bent old man standing in the 
hallway, when a gust of wind suddenly put 
out the candle. The door leading to the 
street was open, and the old man was prob- 
ably a straggler come to importune me for 
shelter or for something to eat. As I relit the 
candle, he entered my room and stood facing 
me, but he did not speak. His clothes were 
dripping and he was blinking at me with 


THE MASTER OF SILENCE 


7 


strange, gleaming eyes. His hair was snow- 
white, and as I looked into his face the death- 
ly pallor of it frightened me. His general ap- 
pearance was more than startling ; it was 
uncanny. 

“What can I do for you?” I asked. 

Greatly to my surprise he made no reply, 
but with a look of pain and great anxiety sank 
into a chair. Then he withdrew from his 
pocket a letter which he extended to me. 
The envelope was wet and dirty. It was 

directed to Kendric Lane, Esq., No. Old 

Broad street, London, England. The address 
was crossed and “22 Kirkland street, Liver- 
pool,” written under it in the familiar hand of 
my guardian. A strange proceeding ! thought 
I. Was the letter intended for my father, who 
was long dead, and who had removed from 
that address more than ten years ago ? The 
old man began to grin and nod as I examined 
the superscription. I broke the seal on the 
envelope and found the following letter, un- 
dated, and with no indication of the place from 
which it was sent : 


8 


THE MASTER OF SILENCE 


“ Dear Brother — I need your help. Come to me at 
once if you can. Consequences of vast importance to 
me and to mankind depend upon your prompt compli- 
ance. I cannot tell you where I am. The bearer will 
bring you to me. Follow him and ask no questions. 
Moreover, be silent, like him, regarding the subject of 
this letter. If you can come, procure passage in the 
first steamer for New York. My messenger is provided 
with funds. Your loving brother, 

“Revis Lane.” 

I had often heard my father speak of my 
uncle Revis, who went to America almost 
twenty years before I was born. Now he was 
my nearest living relative. No news of him 
had reached us for many years before my 
father died. I was familiar with his handwrit- 
ing and the specimen before me was either 
genuine, or remarkably like it. If genuine he 
had evidently not heard of my father’s death. 

Extraordinary as the message was, the mes- 
senger was more so. He sat peering at me 
with a strange, half-crazed expression on his 
face. 

‘‘When did you leave my uncle?” I asked. 

He sat as if unconscious that I had spoken. 

I drew my chair to his side and repeated the 


THE MASTER OF SILENCE 


9 


words in a loud voice, but he did not seem to 
hear me. Evidently the old man could neither 
hear nor speak. In a moment he began grop- 
ing in his pockets, and presently handed me a 
card which contained the following words : 

“If you can come, tear this card in halves 
and return the right half to him.” 

I examined the card carefully. The words 
were undoubtedly in my uncle’s handwriting. 
The back of the card was covered with strange 
characters in red ink. I tore the card as di- 
rected and handed him the right half. 

He held it up to the light and examined it 
carefully, then put it away in a pocket of his 
waistcoat. The look of pain returned to his 
face, and he coughed feebly as if suffering 
from a severe cold. The hour being late I in- 
timated by pantomime that I desired him to 
occupy my bed. He understood me readily 
enough and began feebly to removeTiis cloth- 
ing, while I prepared a sofa for myself. He 
was soon sound asleep, but I lay awake long 
after the light was extinguished. He was evi- 
dently quite ill, and I determined to go for a 


10 


THE MASTER OF SILENCE 


physician at the first appearance of daylight. 
As soon as possible I would go with him to my 
uncle. There were no ties to detain me, and 
it was clearly my duty to do so. Perhaps my 
uncle was in some great peril. If so, I might 
be of service to him. 

When I arose in the morning my strange 
lodger seemed to be sleeping quietly. His 
face looked pale and ghastly in the light of 
day. I stepped close to his bed and, laying 
my hand upon his brow, was horrified to dis- 
cover that he was dead. What was I to do ? 
I sat down to think, trembling with fright. I 
must call in a policeman and tell him all I 
knew about my strange visitor. No, not all; 
I must not tell him about the letter, thought I. 
My uncle might not wish it to be published to 
the world. I ran out upon the street and told 
the first officer I met how the old man had 
rapped at my door during the storm; how I 
had given him my bed out of pity, and how I 
had discovered on awaking in the morning 
that he was dead. 

That day the body was taken to the morgue. 


THE MASTER OF SILENCE 


1 1 


The sum of ^ioo were found in his pockets, a 
part of which gave him a decent burial. But 
while he had gone to his long rest, he had 
sown in my mind the seed of unrest. I went 
about my work clinging to the thread of a 
mystery half told. Whither would it lead me? 

Strange as that messenger had seemed, he 
was certainly a good man to carry secrets. 


CHAPTER II 


HE multitude of legs, engaged by the pair 



in the service of Valentine, King & Co., 
were distinguished from each other by a bit of 
house slang. I was known as “last legs” 
among my companions for some time after my 
initiation to the warehouse. At first I was in- 
clined to resent the reduction of my individu- 
ality to such a vulgar formula, but as I be- 
came inured to hard tasks the sharpness of 
this indignity wore away. 

There was one pair of legs doing service for 
the firm whose owner became my most valued 
friend and confidant. In his business capacity 
he was called “long legs,” but his proper name 
was Philbert Chaffin. He was a tall, slim boy, 
with blue eyes and light hair, the son of a 
stage carpenter, who was employed at one of 
the cheap theatres and who lived within a 
stone’s throw of my lodgings. His language 


THE MASTER OF SILENCE 1 3 

was a unique combination of bad grammar and 
provincial brogue; but every boy in the ware- 
house allowed that he was a good fellow. He 
had spent many an evening with me, and con- 
fided to me many a secret which, owing to 
solemn pledges made at that time, I am not at 
liberty to divulge, before he invited me to dine 
and spend an evening with the family. I ac- 
cepted his invitation gratefully, and the next 
evening Phil took me over. It was a hearty 
welcome that I received at the home of the 
Chaffins. My enjoyment of their simple hos- 
pitality would have been perfect but for the 
embarrassment I felt at the many apologies 
with which it was offered. Mrs. Chaffin knew 
as ’ow the tea was not as good as I was used 
to drinking, but she ’oped it didn’t taste 
“murky.” I assured her that it did not taste 
murky, although a little doubtful as to the ex- 
act significance of the word when applied to 
tea. But in spite of my declaration she in- 
sisted that it must taste “murky” to one who 
was accustomed to better things. The ham 
was never too good in Liverpool, but she 


14 THE MASTER OF SILENCE 

’oped that it wasn’t “reesty.” I solemnly de- 
clared that it was not “reesty.” But Mrs. 
Chaffin and Mr. Chaffin out of the goodness of 
their hearts continued to condole with me on 
the score that such ham tasted and must taste 
“reesty” to one not used to it. I had no 
sooner satisfied their misgivings concerning 
the ham than I was compelled to take issue 
with them as to the bread, regarding which 
they entertained a lurking suspicion of stale- 
ness. During all of this discussion about the 
ham, the tea and the bread, I was conscious 
that a pair of big brown eyes, darkly shaded 
with long lashes, were staring at me across the 
table. Whenever I had the courage to glance 
that way I observed that they had been look- 
ing at me intently, and were suddenly averted. 
These wondering eyes belonged to the only 
daughter in the family. 

“ They’ve all been boys,” said Mrs. Chaffin, 
“ since Hetty was born.” 

I thought it strange that the H in her daugh- 
ter’s name was the only one that the good wo- 
man had shown the ability to manage. 


THE MASTER OF SILENCE 1 5 

“ Hetty is the only one of the lot that takes 
to books,” she continued. “ The head master 
told me she will make a good scholar, and dear 
a me ! she does nothing but read books from 
mornin’ till night.” While Hetty and her 
mother removed the dishes we drew our chairs 
about the fire, and Mr. Chaffin, a blunt, simple- 
minded man, entertained me with sage obser- 
vations regarding politics and the weather. 
He spoke rather loudly, and in a key which, as 
I learned afterward, he only employed on very 
special occasions. Presently the youngest lad 
in the family, who sat on his father’s knee, de- 
manded a song. The response was prompt 
and generous. The selection with which Mr. 
Chaffin favored us contained upward of forty 
stanzas, relating the unhappy story of a fair 
maid and a bold sailor, both of whom met a 
tragic death, in the last stanza, just before the 
day set for their marriage. The song being fin- 
ished, Hetty and her mother drew their chairs 
up to the fire; Hetty sat next me, and after a 
severe inward struggle I summoned the cour- 
age to ask her a question. She answered me 


1 6 THE MASTER OF SILENCE 

in the fewest words possible, but in a voice so 
sweet and low that I wondered then and often 
afterward at its contrast to the other voices I 
had heard in that house. She wore a home- 
spun frock and a neat white pinafore, set off 
with a dainty ribbon tied about her throat. 

“She’s uncommon still when strangers is 
here, sir,” said Mrs. Chaffin; “ but law me ! she 
goes rompitin’ about the house like as if she 
was crazy sometimes, ticklin’ her father and 
tryin’ t’ snip off his beard with the scissors.” 

That night was the beginning of happier 
days for me. When at last I rose to go it was 
near midnight. I forgot my weariness as I 
walked to my lodgings, thinking of those sim- 
ple, honest people and of their kindness to 
me. 

I enjoyed high jinks at the house of the 
Chaffins at least once a week during the next 
year of my apprenticeship, near the close of 
which I began to get ready for a visit to my 
stepmother in fulfilment of a promise I had 
made by letter. It had been, on the whole, a 
happy year to me. I had known many lonely 


THE MASTER OF SILENCE 1 7 

hours, to be sure, but those visits to the little 
old weather-stained house, in which I found 
my first friends after leaving home, cheered me 
from week to week. I knew, too, that Hetty 
enjoyed those long evenings as much as I did, 
which meant more to me than I would have 
dared confess to her. I thought of her a 
good deal, but it always resulted in the 
wretched feeling that we were both very young 
after all. It is not likely that I would have de- 
cided to go home for a fortnight, but that I 
thought it would be pleasant to observe the ef- 
fect of saying good-by to Hetty. I had no 
doubt that she would be quite overcome with 
grief and loneliness after I had gone, and, reck- 
less youth that I was, nothing could have made 
me more happy than to have known that she 
really felt grieved on my account. And yet 
when I called to bid them all good-by, the 
evening before I started, she betrayed no sign 
of regret. In fact, she seemed so much hap- 
pier than usual that I worried about it for 
weeks, even after I had gone so far away that 
it seemed doubtful whether we would ever 


l8 THE MASTER OF SILENCE 

meet again. It did not occur to me that I had 
been less skilful than she in concealing my 
emotions, and that she might be merry only 
because she could perceive that I was sad. 
Mrs. Chaffin was the only member of the fam- 
ily who seemed to entertain feelings as serious 
as my own. She had dreamed that I would 
not come back again, and we all laughed at 
her then, but when the swift years had revealed 
some of their secrets, we thought of this pro- 
phetic dream with a sadness deeper than any 
that comes to childish hearts. Hester and 
Phil walked with me to the gate when I left 
the house. The radiance of a full moon fell on 
our faces through the flying clouds. Phil, stu- 
pid fellow ! had so much to say that I did not 
get a chance to speak to his sister before she 
darted back to the house as if pursued. On 
reaching my lodgings I was surprised to find a 
gentleman waiting for me. 

“ Don’t know me, eh ? ” said he, shaking my 
hand warmly. 

He was a tall, portly man, with a kindly face, 
clean shaven except for a pair of close-cropped, 


THE MASTER OF SILENCE 


19 


iron-gray side whiskers. I was sure I had seen 
him before, but couldn’t think of his name. 

“ Earl,” said he, handing me a card on which 
his name and address were printed as follows : 

DAVID GORDON EARL, 

Barrister at Law, 

Lincoln’s Inn, London. 

I remembered distinctly having accompanied 
my father to his office on one occasion some 
years before. 

“ I’ve come up from London on purpose to 
see you. Just got here only a few minutes 
ago,” said he, laying off his overcoat. “ But 
upon my word ! ” he added, surveying me from 
head to foot, “ I didn’t expect to find such a 
big, strapping fellow as you are. Your sur- 
roundings are quite as I had supposed they 
would be. Cramped quarters in a miserable 
tumble-down back street ! I suppose your 
guardian provided this place for you ? ” 

“ I believe so,” said I. 

“ Did you know that your stepmother had 
married again ? ” he asked. 


20 


THE MASTER OF SILENCE 


“ Married ! ” I exclaimed. “To whom ? ” 

“ To Martin Cobb.” 

“To my guardian ?” I asked, in astonish- 
ment. 

Not heeding my question, he continued : 

“You’re intending to go home to-morrow, 
I believe ? ” 

“ Yes, sir.” 

“ My boy,” said he, “ I have an interest in 
you. I was your father’s friend and adviser for 
many years. I came all this distance to tell 
you not to go to London. Do notask me why, 
I beg you,” said he, with an impatient gesture 
when I attempted to speak. “ It would do you 
no good to learn my reason for making this re- 
quest. Listen to this — it’s important to you : 
There’s an uncle of yours in America, your 
nearest relative, I believe. Of course you have 
heard your father speak of him. A most ec- 
centric fellow! but a man of fine ability. He 
was a graduate of Oxford and a physician of 
great skill and learning. Thirty-five years 
ago he went to Canada and finally settled in a 
large town on one of the great lakes not far 


THE MASTER OF SILENCE 


2 


from the border. It was Detroit, I believe. 
Your father told me, shortly before his death, 
that he had not heard from your uncle for 
many years. I have written to him twice with- 
in a twelvemonth, but have received no reply. 
I want you to go over and look him up. If you 
should find that he is dead, there’s no harm 
done, and you can take time to look about for 
a business opportunity. If you don’t like it, 
come back, but, if you can content yourself 
there for awhile, you had better do so.” 

“ But, sir, I have no money.” 

“You are going for me; I shall, therefore, 
insist upon paying the bills. In the success of 
the undertaking I have, perhaps, as great an 
interest as you.” 

“ When do you wish me to start ? ” I asked. 

“ To-night. That is to say, I would like you 
to leave this place at once, go with me to a ho- 
tel, and sail by the first steamer that leaves for 
New York.” 

Ever since that strange and silent messenger 
had come to me with my uncle’s letter I had 
been haunted by a desire to go in quest of him. 


22 


THE MASTER OF SILENCE 


Now that it was possible, I hesitated. What 
would Hester say on hearing that I had gone to 
America ? It would be very grand to write her 
from New York that I had been suddenly 
called abroad on important business. Would 
she care ? Of course she would care, and I 
was willing to wager a sixpence with myself 
that she would cry bitterly, too, on receiving 
the letter. Ah, what a punishment that would 
be for her coldness and indifference ! 

Yes, I would go. I began picking up my 
things and packing them into my box. 

“ I conclude that you have decided to go,” 
he said. 

“ Yes, sir. I shall be ready in a moment,” 
I replied. 

We were soon rattling over the pavements 
in a cab that had been waiting at the door. 

On arriving at the Northwestern Hotel we 
were informed that a steamer would leave 
for New York at five in the morning. We 
drove at once to the dock and having suc- 
ceeded in making comfortable arrangements 
for my passage Mr. Earl went aboard the 


THE MASTER OF SILENCE 


23 


steamer with me. In a retired corner of the 
great cabin I confessed to him that there was a 
girl in Liverpool for whom I had a feeling of 
extraordinary tenderness. 

He laughed heartily and insisted that I 
should tell him all the particulars. 

“ You are rather young yet to entertain so 
serious a passion,” said he, as he held my hand 
for a moment before going ashore. “You will 
get over it as easily as you got into it.” 

I sat down, unable to reply or to restrain the 
tears that came to my eyes as he left me alone. 
I went to my stateroom at once and to bed. 
What thoughts came to me as I lay there in- 
viting sleep to turn them into dreams, while 
the great ship waited for the tide ! I tossed 
about my berth; I prayed; I listened. At 
length I thought I heard my father’s voice 
mingled with others, and a sound of casting off 
— but I heard no more. 


CHAPTER III 



NE morning in early October, nearly two 


years after I left Liverpool that mem- 
orable night, I found myself in the little city 
of Ogdensburg, N. Y., past which the majestic 
St. Lawrence flows with a sleepy movement, 
quite in harmony with the spirit of the old 
town on its southern shore. All this time I 
had been vainly beating about the Western 
Hemisphere in quest of my uncle. He had 
left Detroit many years before, but I chanced 
to meet a number of men there who had known 
him well. Although he had enjoyed a very 
large practice and a wide reputation for skill, 
he had made no friends that I could find. He 
was a man of few words, they told me, and 
was never seen about the city except in the 
discharge of his professional duties. Various 
and conflicting opinions were expressed as to 
whither he had gone, in testing which I had 


2 4 


THE MASTER OF SILENCE 


25 


visited no less than twenty cities, making care- 
ful inquiries, especially among medical men. 
Occasionally I struck what seemed to be a 
promising clew, which only increased my con- 
fusion and left me more hopelessly in the dark. 
I had reported my movements to Mr. Earl as 
often as once a week and I received letters 
from him frequently, encouraging me to con- 
tinue the search and enclosing money with 
which to do so. But although I had written 
often to Hester Chaffin no word from her ever 
reached me. I was tired of this fruitless quest 
among strangers, so far from the little that I 
held dear, and I was on the point of giving up 
when this paragraph fell under my eye in a 
Montreal newspaper: 

A MYSTERIOUS CHARACTER. 

“ One who has ever passed the city of Ogdensburg by 
steamer will no doubt recall a large gambrel-roofed 
house standing near the water’s edge, just out of the 
town, surrounded by towering trees and enclosed on all 
sides by a wall nearly as high as the eaves of the build- 
ing. The wall suggests an asylum, a house of deten- 
tion or some like place set apart for the unfortunate 
members of society. In reality, however, it is the resi- 
dence of a mysterious recluse of the name of Lane, who 


26 


THE MASTER OF SILENCE 


shut himself up there nearly eighteen years ago and has 
since been rarely seen. It was built after his own plans, 
they say, when he came to Ogdensburg with his wife, 
who died soon afterward. Nobody knows whence he 
came or anything of his past history. He is apparently 
a total stranger here below, holding no intercourse with 
the world beyond that enclosure. His wife is said to 
have been a woman of great beauty, and her death 
doubtless threw him into a morbid state of mind, from 
which he has never rallied. Many years ago he is 
known to have bought a full-grown African lion from 
a traveling menagerie, and, soon after, he erected the 
wall, presumably out of regard for the public safety. 
Passers along the street have caught an occasional 
glimpse of him through the high gate, walking in the 
grounds surrounding his house, with the lion at his 
heels apparently in complete subjection to its master. 
A dense thicket runs along the wall on all sides within 
the enclosure, which, according to local tradition, is 
alive with rattlesnakes, bred for some strange purpose 
known only to himself — perhaps to make his isolation 
more secure. 

“ He is supposed to have resigned the companion- 
ship of men for study and scientific research. He has 
no children, and his only servant being a deaf-mute, 
who is almost an idiot, there is little chance at present 
of learning anything of his life. For more than two 
years nothing has been seen of the mysterious master 
of the house. His disappearance would, we think, be 
a legitimate subject of investigation by the authorities 
of the town. May he not have been eaten by the lion, 
or killed by the rattlesnakes? Who knows ? ” 


THE MASTER OF SILENCE 2? 

My heart was beating fast and my hands 
shook as if stricken with palsy before I had 
finished the paragraph. The strange old man 
who had come to me in Liverpool that night 
was probably the mute servant to which the 
article referred. In an hour I was on the way 
to Ogdensburg, quite confident that the issue 
of my wanderings was at hand. I reached that 
town next morning nearly two years, as I have 
said, after the beginning of my journey to the 
New World. Not stopping to breakfast even, 
I started out to find the house, which my busy 
imagination had already pictured for itself. 
The first townsman I saw directed me to the 
place. 

“ Follow the turnpike,” said he. “ ’Sa mild 
or more — straight ahead. You’ll know it when 
y’ git there. ’S’ queer place an’ stan’s off by 
itself.” 

The man was going my way, evidently to 
begin his day’s work, for it was then early in 
the morning, and I walked along with him. 

“Folks say,” he continued, “them grounds 
is full of hejious reptyles, an’ I’ve heerd fellers 


28 


THE MASTER OF SILENCE 


tell queer things they’ve seen when passin’ 
there at night — red lights a-flyin’ about an’ 
spooks at the winders. An’ one night, when 
Uncle Bill Jemson was cornin’ down the turn- 
pike, they was a storm come up, an’ jest as he 
got opposite the big iron gate they was a flash 
a lightnin’ — an’ Bill says he see the ole man, 
his long white hair a-flyin’ in th’ wind, an’ a 
lion standin’ there in front a th’ house. Th’ 
flash was out’n a minit, an’ Bill whipped up his 
hosses an’ sent em clear to Mills’ tavern on the 
dead run,” said he, laughing as if it were a good 
joke. 

“ They don’t nobody like th’ place ner th’ 
man, though I don’ know why, fer no one’s 
ever passed a word with him in these parts. 
There ’tis, over yender with the pines around 
it an’ th’ high wall,” said he, pointing with his 
finger. But my eye had already discovered 
the low-built rambling house on the high 
banks of the river, well in the distance, and had 
recognized it at once. 

Leaving my companion at the next turn in 
the road I walked hurriedly on, and when I 


) 


THE MASTER OF SILENCE 2g 

had reached the big iron gate I stopped and 
peered through it. A gravel roadway, now 
overgrown with weeds, led from the gate to 
the front of the house, which stood facing me. 
It was built entirely of wood and consisted of 
four wings (at least there were no others 
visible) evidently enclosing a quadrangular 
courtyard, the rear wings being lower than 
those in front, and hidden by the latter from 
the view of one standing at the gate as I 
was. It was only at a distance that one 
could see their roofs above the enclosure. 
There Was but one line of windows along the 
front, but there was an oriel just under the 
peak of the main building, and I could see a 
skylight here and there upon the roofs. 

The blinds were closed and there was no 
sign of life about the house — evidently planned 
with hospitable intentions, but now silent and 
forbidding. I tried the gates. They were 
locked securely. A screen of closely woven 
wire rose from the pavement half way up the 
iron work. Evidently it would be impossible 
to reach the doors without scaling this barrier, 


3 ° 


THE MASTER OF SILENCE 


and I was not yet ready to try an expedient so 
desperate. Returning to my hotel I wrote a 
letter to the master of the house, telling him of 
my long-continued quest and of my hopes re- 
garding our possible kinship. Day after day I 
anxiously awaited his reply, until a week had 
passed, but no word came from him. In pass- 
ing the house at different times, however, I ob- 
served some signs of life within it — a blind open 
that had been closed the day before — a faint 
glimmer of light on the trees in the rear of the 
grounds at night, which might have come 
from the back windows. Even this slight en- 
couragement was gratifying, but as time pass- 
ed without bringing any reply to my letter I 
began to think that, after all, my hopes rested 
on very shadowy foundations. One day I 
asked the local postmaster if a man of the name 
of Lane, who lived near that city, ever sent for 
his mail. 

“Never,” said he. “The man is crazy, I 
guess, and it’s wasting postage to write him. 
He’s a hermit, sir — a regular hermit, and is 
about the same as dead, for nobody ever sees 


THE MASTER OF SILENCE 31 

him. The tradesmen tell me that his old ser- 
vant comes out of an evening, once in a while, 
to buy provisions, but he’s deaf as a post and 
dumb as an oyster.” The interview had at 
least shown me the futility of trying to reach 
him by letter. 

It was clear that only one course was open to 
me. I must brave the unknown perils with 
which this strange man had encompassed the 
path of the trespasser, and gain an entrance to 
the house. I sought the seclusion of my room 
at once, and thought over the result of my in- 
vestigations. I had not written to my good 
friend in London since my arrival in Ogdens- 
burg, and I concluded not to do so until I could 
give him definite information. 

Late in the afternoon a slow, drizzling rain 
began to pour down, and when night fell every 
luminary in the heavens was obscured by thick 
clouds. It was a favorable time for carrying 
out my project, as the darkness was intensified 
by a fog that had settled over the city. By 
the light of my lamp I prepared for the under- 
taking, in such a state of excitement that I 


32 THE MASTER OF SILENCE 

was frequently startled by my own whispers, 
through which I found myself now and then 
giving involuntary utterance to my thoughts. 
Cutting up a pair of boots which I carried in 
my box, I wound my legs in leather from my 
ankles up above my knees, carefully drawing 
on a pair of thick, long stockings to hold it in 
place This precaution would give me a com- 
fortable sense of security, even if there were no 
snakes to fear. I felt sure that the lion, if he 
were still living, would be kept in some place 
of confinement. 

It was long past bedtime, and the lights 
were out in every shop and dwelling, when I 
started on my daring mission. The little 
lamps that glared through the fog at the street 
corners could scarcely be seen twenty feet 
away. I was so preoccupied that I frequently 
lost my direction in the mud and darkness. It 
seemed as if I had been traveling for hours, 
when at last I felt the big wall, and saw its dim 
bulk rising above me and stretching away into 
the night. Cautiouly I groped along its base 
until my hands felt the iron bars of the gate. 


THE MASTER OF SILENCE 33 

Then I stood for some moments leaning 
against them, quite out of breath. They were 
cold and wet, and chilled me to a shiver when 
I touched them. I peered toward the house 
but could see nothing. I listened, but could 
hear nothing except the beating of my own 
heart and the mournful sound of the pines 
whose loftier branches were stirring in the still 
air. Grasping the heavy bars I tried to climb 
the gate, but, as there were no projections on 
which it was possible to get a foothold, I found 
this an exhausting and difficult task. I climbed 
repeatedly several feet above the earth, only 
to lose my foothold and slide down again. 
Finally, by exerting all my strength, I suc- 
ceeded in supporting myself with the edge of 
my boot upon a crossbar about half way up; 
then, taking a small rope from my pocket I 
threw one end of it over the gate, holding the 
other in my teeth. Tying it securely by a 
noose I climbed hand overhand to the top and 
then let myself down on the other side. I was 
quite exhausted by the effort (unaccustomed as 
I was to such burglarious enterprises) and my 


34 


THE MASTER OF SILENCE 


fingers were torn and bleeding from forcing a 
hold between the iron work and the wire 
screen. I remembered the gravel pathway, 
overgrown with grass, that led from the big 
gate to a front door. I groped about in the 
darkness until I felt the gravel under my feet. 
Then I moved cautiously along it, until I 
could dimly discern the outlines of the house. 
My nerves were so wrought up, while I stood 
there holding my breath to catch some sound 
from its gloomy interior, that I was near 
crying out in abject terror at every step. 
An owl, startled from the limb of a tree 
over my head, flew lazily into the upper 
air and across the thicket, disturbing other 
birds that set up a chattering protest. Stealth- 
ily I crept from window to window, but 
the blinds were closed fast. Finally I came 
to a door that seemed to open into the 
main part of the building. Desperate under 
the strain to which my nerves had been sub- 
jected, I knocked loudly on its upper panels. 
The sound echoed through the still house and 
the thickly wooded grounds around it. “ God 


THE MASTER OF SILENCE 


35 


help me! ” I whispered; “ will that echo never 
cease ? ” It kept repeating itself from tree to 
tree, until I covered my ears to stop its weird 
reverberations. Then I heard a low threaten- 
ing sound, deep and resonant as the lower 
tones of a great organ, that gradually grew 
louder until its volume filled the air, and then 
died away, while its echoes went chasing each 
other among the trees. In the silence which 
followed, my ear caught another sound the like 
of which I had never heard before. A dozen 
clocks being wound by quick turns on all sides 
of me would, I fancy, have produced a similar 
effect. It was evident to me that my knocking 
had disturbed my uncle’s pets, but I was not to 
be frightened away. Hearing no movement in 
the house I tried the door, and to my astonish- 
ment it swung open. A peculiar odor, such as 
one notices in a house that has long stood 
empty, came to my nostrils, and again I heard 
that fateful whirring, but in the darkness I 
could discern no object. As I crossed the 
threshold the sound grew louder, and to my 
horror the door closed suddenly behind me. 


36 THE MASTER OF SILENCE 

Hurriedly striking a match, I held it above my 
head and peered about me. Its light revealed 
a small apartment finished in polished wood. 
Along the angle of the floor was an open- 
ing, two or three inches high, into the side 
walls. And half way up the wall in front of me 
I saw a face — the face of a maniac it seemed 
to be — pale and wan, with strange, inhuman 
eyes. I had scarcely glanced at it when the 
match dropped from my fingers and fell slowly 
through the air, going out as it struck the floor. 
My hands were cold, but so wet with perspira- 
tion that they stuck to my clothing when I felt 
for a candle which I had brought with me. 

There are moments in every man’s life that 
move slowly, as if carrying the weight of years 
upon their backs. I shall never cease to be- 
lieve that the few seconds it took me to light 
that candle must stand for as many years in 
any correct reckoning of my age. When its 
beams at last illumined the room, the strange 
face was still there. Had I seen it before ? It 
was marvellously like that other face which 
had haunted my dreams so long. If it was the 


THE MASTER OF SILENCE 


37 


face of a man he must be standing on the other 
side of the wall and looking through a panel. 

“Is Mr. Lane at home?” I asked in an un- 
natural tone that startled me. 

But no word of reply was spoken. 

“I am his nephew and I have important 
news for him.” 

The face disappeared for a moment, and 
presently a shrunken hand, holding a white 
sheet of paper, was extended through the open- 
ing. I stepped forward, took the sheet and, 
withdrawing to the centre of the room, sat 
down upon the floor and wrote the following 
message in bold characters with my pencil: 

“Kendric Lane, son of Kendric Lane (de- 
ceased), late of London, England, wishes to 
see Dr. Lane on business of importance.” 

I handed the message to the strange man 
behind the wall, who immediately disappeared 
with it, closing the panel. “The worst is 
over,” thought I, while I stood in that mys- 
terious and silent chamber waiting for his re- 
turn. But I should not have thought so had I 
known what was still to be revealed to me be- 


38 


THE MASTER OF SILENCE 


fore the dawn of another day, and in the months 
that followed, during which that house and its 
echoing groves were my home. And I some- 
times ask myself, in the light of later events 
of which that visit was indirectly the cause, 
whether, had I been able to foresee them, I 
would still have persevered in my purpose to 
know the secrets of my uncle’s house ? 


CHAPTER IV 


LONG time I stood waiting for some 



^ reply to my message. My candle was 
fast burning out, and I began to fear that after 
all I was likely to leave the house no wiser 
than when I had entered it. Suddenly a door 
swung on its creaking hinges and a feeble old 
man, holding a lamp in one hand, stood grin- 
ning at me in the opening. It was the same 
face that I saw before, but it seemed less 
ghostly and unnatural now. Stepping back 
he beckoned me to enter. As soon as I had 
crossed the threshold the door closed behind 
me and the old man carefully bolted it. I 
stood in a large room, richly furnished, of 
which spiders had apparently long held posses- 
sion. Great cobwebs hung like hammocks 
from the ceiling, and the dust of years had set- 
tled over all. Two human skeletons, com- 
pletely wrapped in cobwebs, stood facing me 


39 


40 


THE MASTER OF SILENCE 


against the opposite wall. Following my si- 
lent leader, I went through a long narrow 
passage, at the end of which was a heavy door 
fastened with large iron bolts. Before opening 
it the strange old man placed the lamp upon a 
table and turning around looked squarely into 
my face. Merciful Heaven ! It was the face 
of another man who was looking at me now ! 
The deep lines had almost disappeared and 
the eyes looked brighter and more intelligent. 
No, it was the same face, for while my eyes 
were eagerly scanning it that hideous grin be- 
gan to deepen its wrinkles, and its owner, tak- 
ing half a dozen steps down the passageway, 
made an awkward motion with both hands as 
if trying to indicate that I was to follow him 
very closely. Then he opened the big door 
and I was surprised to observe that it led into 
the outer air. What gulf of darkness are we 
about to plunge into ? I asked myself, peering 
through the doorway; and as we stepped out 
I heard again that ominous whirring. Close 
upon his heels I followed in a narrow path, 
through what seemed to be a large courtyard, 


THE MASTER OF SILENCE 


41 


overgrown with thick grass. Presently he 
stopped, and, taking a bunch of keys from his 
pocket, unlocked a door in a back wing of the 
house. Reaching out until his hand touched 
me, as if to make sure that I was there, he 
swung the door open and we stepped into a 
dimly lighted apartment. My mysterious guide 
turned up the wick of a lamp that was burning 
on a table in the centre of the room. It was a 
library, with great shelves of books reaching 
from floor to ceiling along its walls. A large 
galvanic battery, globes, charts and other 
contrivances that belong to the equipment of 
a scholar surrounded the table. This table 
was used for writing evidently, for there were 
pens lying on it and a human skull used as an 
inkstand, the fluid being held in the cavities of 
the eyes. I had seated myself in a chair and 
was waiting for some sign from the little old 
man who had brought me there. But where 
was he? Turning around I looked about me 
on all sides. He had left the room during my 
momentary preoccupation. I had scarcely 
seated myself again when a door opened and 


42 


THE MASTER OF SILENCE 


a venerable man, with snow-white hair and a 
smooth-shaven face that was pale and wrinkled, 
walked slowly toward me. I rose to my feet 
and advanced a step or two. He came for- 
ward without speaking and looked steadily 
into my eyes. Slowly and sadly he turned his 
gaze upon the floor, apparently in deep thought. 
A sigh broke from his lips as if some memory, 
stirring in the caves of thought, had driven it 
forth. 

The man who stood before me had deep-set 
gray eyes, almost concealed by long shaggy 
brows not yet entirely white. His lips were 
thin, and drawn closely together above a square, 
protruding chin. The nose was aquiline and 
prominent, with large, but finely cut nostrils. 
Altogether his was the most picturesque face 
I had ever seen. Suddenly he made an effort 
to clear his throat. 

“Kendric’s child,” said he, in a strange, low 
voice. He spoke slowly and with great diffi- 
culty, as if his organs of speech were partially 
paralyzed. I would not have been able to 
distinguish his words but for the silence of that 


THE MASTER OF SILENCE 


43 


room and the unnatural keenness of my hear- 
ing. He still stood motionless, his eyes upon 
the floor. I knew that he was thinking of my 
father. 

“Dead?” he asked, looking at me inquisi- 
tively. 

“ He is dead,” I answered. 

“And my man — did he give you the letter?” 

“Yes; he is dead also.” 

“ Dead? I thought he was dead,” he repeated, 
slowly and thoughtfully. “I, too, am dead — 
long dead.” 

The words were separated by considerable 
pauses, and he faced me almost sternly as he 
finished speaking them. I stood staring at 
him, dumb with surprise. 

“Why — how did you come here?” 

He sank into a chair, exhausted with the 
effort it had cost him to speak. My presence 
seemed to irritate and annoy him. Why, in- 
deed, had I come there ? What should I say 
in reply to his question ? I tried to think. 

“Knaves! Knaves!” said my uncle, in a 
shrill voice, rushing toward me. In a moment 


44 


THE MASTER OF SILENCE 


he had thrown his arms about my neck and 
was sobbing aloud. My heart was full and I 
wept with him. 

“Fortunate child of God,” said he, after a 
moment; “you have the seed of life — immortal 
life. But I beg you to go. To one like you 
this house will seem an uncanny place; I can 
only think of it as beyond the grave.” 

“Let me stay, uncle,” said I. “Don’t send 
me away. Perhaps I can help you or comfort 
you.” 

“Poor soul! you shall stay if you will. I 
am in great trouble and need help, but you are 
a boy — I cannot ask you to give your life to 
me.” 

He sat down before the table, breathing 
heavily, and beckoned me to a chair beside 
him. I was quite dumfounded and knew not 
what to say. Presently he began writing upon 
large sheets of paper, handing each one to me 
as soon as it was covered. The manuscript 
read as follows: 

“I am not able to talk much. To me words 
are a lie and an abomination. Even these I 


THE MASTER OF SILENCE 45 

now write are misrepresenting me and deceiv- 
ing you, though I wish them to tell the truth. 
They will make me out an ass or a madman. 
I am neither. For eighteen years I have 
scarcely spoken as many words. A word or 
two of Sanscrit now and then has met my needs, 
thank God ! There is an interior language 
for which speech is an imperfect medium. 
Through that interior language thought is 
communicated directly and truthfully. I used 
it long before I came here — imperfectly, to 
be sure, but with a small degree of satisfaction 
to myself. Through it I was able to heal the 
sick when others failed. I knew how they 
felt better than they could tell me in feeble 
words. In some more perfect state of evolu- 
tion, beyond the grave, perhaps, all men 
will have this power and it will be perfect. I 
can enjoy but an imperfect use of it until the 
mortal part of me has been cast off. One 
trained to speech in childhood loses certain 
faculties that can never be regained. 

“ My wife died many years ago. She left 
me a broken heart and a child, newly born. I 


4 6 THE MASTER OF SILENCE 

had just built this house, among strangers. 
We intended to devote the remainder of our 
lives to the study of mental phenomena. We 
desired to carry on our work without interrup- 
tion. We planned to live unknown among 
those around us. When she died I saw in the 
child an opportunity. I determined to make 
its life a grand experiment; to preserve and 
cultivate its native intuitions — the germ of the 
power of direct communication. God has 
vouchsafed success to me. He lives — a man 
of exalted powers the like of which the world 
has never seen but once, and then in Christ, 
the very Son of God. But, unlike Him, my son 
is only human, with weaknesses that are our 
common lot. 

“ The years are flying, and strength is failing! 
I must die soon and he will live. That thought 
burns my brain, passing through it day by 
day. His life may be long extended and he 
cannot live alone, nor among men, for he 
would be a stranger and friendless — feared and 
dreaded by superstitious fools. He has never 
seen a human face outside these walls nor 


THE MASTER OF SILENCE 47 

heard a human voice but mine. I have told 
you my trouble.” 

He ceased writing, but before I had finished 
reading the statement some strange influence 
came over me. I felt restless and uncomfort- 
able. My hand was shaking so that I could 
scarcely read the words on the last sheet of 
paper. Suddenly I raised my eyes and saw a 
young man, godlike in form and feature, stand- 
ing at my side. His face wore an expression 
of indescribable eloquence. As familiar as he 
afterward became to me, I can never forget the 
first impression which that magnificent human 
being made upon my mind, as he stood there — 
radiating a power that I felt to the tips of my 
fingers. What favored son of man was this 
confronting me, born to such an inheritance 
of majesty and grace ? I asked myself, regard- 
ing him with amazement. He had eyes dark 
as night, set under a broad forehead, about 
which wavy masses of tawny hair fell grace- 
fully. His stately form was erect and firm as 
a statue. For a moment his eyes looked into 
mine; then he advanced and took my hand. 


48 


THE MASTER OF SILENCE 


Tenderly he pressed it to his lips, stepping 
back as he did so and looking at me with a 
half-curious, half-amused expression. I was so 
startled by the unexpected appearance of this 
remarkable figure that I had not, until now, 
noticed that a large lion had followed him into 
the room and was lying quietly at his feet. I 
was not afraid ; indeed, the king of beasts 
seemed but a part of the man’s masterful pres- 
ence. I do not think I would have seen the 
animal but that his enormous body was lying 
directly before my eyes on the floor. My uncle 
had been sitting with his head resting upon his 
hand at the table. Suddenly he rose and a 
strange, guttural sound — it may have been a 
word from some language wholly unfamiliar 
to me — passed his lips. The young man 
immediately left us, the lion following close- 
ly at his heels. We both sat in silence 
for some moments after he had gone. My 
mind had felt strange exhilaration in his 
presence, and I rubbed my eyes to make 
sure that I was not dreaming. When I looked 
at my uncle the sad expression on his face 


THE MASTER OF SILENCE 49 

had given way to a smile of infinite satis- 
faction. 

“ He is pleased — thank God !” said my uncle, 
in a hoarse whisper, sinking into a chair. 

I made no answer. 

“ It was my son,” he continued, with anima- 
tion. “Rayel — that was the name she gave 
him. Rayel, the wonderful. He will love you 
as he loves me. Come,” said he, rising, “the 
night is nearly gone.” 

Taking a lamp from the table, he beckoned 
me to follow him. Silently we proceeded 
through a narrow hallway and up one flight of 
stairs to a spacious bedroom which had seem- 
ingly been prepared for my use. A candle was 
burning dimly on a large dressing-case, and by 
its flickering light, as soon as my uncle had 
gone, I looked about me and tried to think with 
calmness on the experience I had passed 
through. Bolting the door securely, I threw 
open one of the window blinds. To my sur- 
prise the first light Of dawn was visible in the 
sky. My room was in the rear of the house. 
Between me and the high wall was a dense 


$0 THE MASTER OF SILENCE 

tangle of underbrush, barely visible in the dim 
light. Hastily undressing, I went to bed with- 
out further delay, and was soon in deep sleep. 
When I awoke it was near midday. Dressing 
as quickly as possible, I proceeded at once to 
the library, where my uncle sat waiting for me. 
He conducted me to the breakfast room — a 
well-lighted and cheerful apartment — where he 
served me with his own hands. 

“You shall stay, sir — you shall stay,” said 
he, laying his hand on my shoulder as he sat 
down beside me, with a smiling face. “ Rayel 
loves you. He hopes you will stay. He thinks 
God sent you to us.” 

“ I am glad, for I wish to stay,” I said. 

“ Good !” he exclaimed, in a long whisper. 
“ You have brought the world to him. Already 
he has seen it in your eyes. But it is good !” 

While I ate he asked me questions touching 
the changes in our family since he left Eng- 
land. 

I told him of my life at home after my father’s 
death; of my hard lot in Liverpool, and of the 
midnight interviews with his messenger and 


THE MASTER OF SILENCE jj 1 

with Mr. Earl. He listened to me with grave 
and attentive interest, but stopped me before I 
had finished, with an impatient gesture. 

“ Speak out! they meant — they meant to kill 
you, didn’t they ? ” 

I stared at him in amazement, while ideas 
that were new to me flocked into the empyrean 
of thought like black birds of prey. Oh, no; I 
had never suspected that ! I would never be- 
fore have permitted such a hideous suspicion 
to enter my mind. Was it possible that Mr. 
Earl had sent me away from England in order 
to save my life ? My hands began to tremble, 
and I felt my face turning red and pale under 
the searching eyes of my uncle. 

“ My boy,” said he, “ if all the murders were 
done that men conceive, the devil would live 
alone on earth. We shall know some time — I 
tell you we shall know ! Let us go to Rayel,” 
he said, rising and leading the way. 

The interview had greatly excited him, and 
his speech seemed even more halting and la- 
bored than before. Many of his words were 
mispronounced and separated by long pauses; 


5 2 


THE MASTER OF SILENCE 


but his manner was marvelously expressive, 
and often a peculiar turn of the eye or move- 
ment of the hand made his meaning clear when 
I was in doubt about his words. 

I followed him through a long gymnasium 
and out upon a grassy courtyard extending 
along the rear of the grounds parallel with the 
river wall for a hundred yards or more, and 
adorned with beds of flowers. It was completely 
shut off from the eye of the outside world by a 
thick grove and an impenetrable growth of 
underbrush that reached beyond the lowest 
branches of the trees. Nothing but the blue sky, 
in which the sun was on its downward course, the 
house, and the walls of living green, were vis- 
ible. Out of this Eden-like spot we passed into 
another wing of the building with large win- 
dows looking out upon it. Rayel met us at the 
door, dressed in a black robe of silk that hung 
gracefully from his shoulders. Again he took 
my hand and kissed it, then looked into my eyes 
with the same expression of curious interest 
upon his face that I had noted before. Still 
holding my hand, he led me across the room. 


THE MASTER OF SILENCE 53 

For the first time I noticed that its walls were 
covered with pictures, unframed, and that an 
easel stood in the light of each window. We 
stopped before one of them. On a large can- 
vas that was stretched across it I saw a like- 
ness of myself. The eyes wore a haggard look 
which seemed unnatural. But there was some- 
thing strangely real about it, in spite of that. 

“ Wonderful !” said I. 

Rayel started at the sound of my voice, and 
glanced from one to the other with a puzzled, 
inquiring look. Turning to his father, he ut- 
tered some strange monosyllable in a deep 
voice. Then he took my hand and walked 
back and forth across the room with me, smil- 
ing in great delight. I was fascinated by one 
of the pictures which showed a great gleaming 
eye with a suggestion of lightning in its fiery 
depths, as if taken at the keenest flash of fury. 
To intensify its fierceness a human hand was 
raised in front of it so as to throw a dark 
shadow across the canvas. 

“It is the lion’s eye,” said my uncle, who was 
standing near me. 


54 THE master of silence 

There were other paintings — many of them 
equally strange and wonderful — hanging on 
the walls, some of which contained material 
he could not have derived from direct observa- 
tion. It was easy to discern in his work the 
fragments of nature that came within the lim- 
ited command of his own eyes — the falling 
snow, the changing phases of the sky and of 
vegetation — for they were presented with a 
stronger and more vivid touch. Until the fad- 
ing twilight blended all color into gloom I 
passed -from one canvas to another along 
the wall in silence, oblivious of all save the 
presence of Rayel, who followed close at my 
elbow, evidently enjoying my admiration of his 
work. When I had finished looking at the 
paintings I turned for some sign to indicate his 
further pleasure, and discovered that he was 
gone. My uncle was standing near me. 

“ It is late,” said he. 

We returned at once across the yard to 
my uncle’s retreat among his books and 
papers. Lighting the lamps he sat down 
beside me. 


THE MASTER OF SILENCE 55 

“ The power of speech is returning,” said he. 
“ I can talk more easily.” 

“Did I not hear you speak to your son ?” I 
asked. 

“Yes,” he answered. “Long ago difficul- 
ties arose. Sometimes he could not command 
my thoughts, nor I his. I had known fifty years 
of life; he had not — hence an inequality. My 
physical organism had been neglected. It was 
an imperfect agent of the mind. Many of my 
faculties were lost. These circumstances stood 
between us like barriers. It was the beginning 
of each communication that troubled us, when 
our minds were working in different channels. 
Something was needed for a cue — a starting- 
point. Ten pregnant words of Sanscrit w^re 
all we needed. It was easy then.” 

“ I should think he would have lost the pow- 
er of speech and hearing,” I remarked. 

“ No. Music saved them — abstract music. 
His voice is wonderful. His hearing is quick. 
Rayel knows words but not speech. His mind 
has command of my knowledge. He has never 
seen the world, but he knows about it. I tried 


56 


THE MASTER OF SILENCE 


to begin my life anew and to forget the past. 
But I could not wholly cleanse my mind of it. 
Its memories faded slowly. I have avoided re- 
newing them for his sake.” 

“ He could, then, learn to speak ? ” 

“With ease, and it were better if he could 
speak now. We will teach him soon.” 

As he ceased speaking, fatigued by the un- 
accustomed effort, I heard low strains of music 
echoing through the silent halls around us. A 
violin! The tone was deep and tremulous, 
gradually growing louder, filling the ear with 
its message, and lifting the mind to lofty 
heights of thought and passion. We both sat 
listening for hours, and midnight came before 
the last strain died away. That music was 
like a strange story that drops its plummet 
deep into life’s mysteries. 

“ A new song ! ” said my uncle, turning to 
me with surprise on his face. “ He got the 
subject from you. We shall see.” 

Presently Rayel entered the room, bringing 
something in his hand — a picture — which he 
held up to the lamplight. A girl’s face ! 


THE MASTER OF SILENCE 


5 ; 


and wonderfully like that of Hester Chaffin. 
I sat amazed, staring at it. But the likeness 
was not exact, the face was idealized — as I 
had seen it in my dream the night before. I 
raised my eyes to Rayel’s face. He was look- 
ing at me with an expression of pain and em- 
barrassment. 


CHAPTER V 


IV /T Y uncle recovered the power of speech 
-** * -■* rapidly. Before I had been a week in 
his house he was able to talk with comparative 
ease. He seemed to enjoy my companionship, 
and I spent most of my time in his library, 
conversing with him or conning the musty 
books that had long lain unread. To me this 
room was a fascinating and restful place. 
Somehow it reminded me of an old cemetery. 
The time-worn books upon its shelves stood in 
solemn rows, like headstones, sacred to the 
memory of the men who wrote them — their 
titles like inscriptions half obliterated. I did 
not see Rayel for days after the midnight 
episode that gave me such a startling revela- 
tion of his power. 

“Do you think that Rayel knows everything 
that passes in one’s mind — a vivid dream, for 
instance ? ” I asked my uncle one day when we 
were alone together. 


58 


THE MASTER OF SILENCE 


59 


“ Yes, except when he is himself asleep. 
His command of my dreams puzzled me at 
first. I thought I had put the past completely 
out of my mind. But I could not hide it from 
him. Little by little he learned everything in 
my history. One day I saw him at work on a 
picture. It startled me. The canvas showed 
a man lying on a surgeon’s table. The knife 
had just severed an artery in his thigh. There 
were four men working over him — I was one 
of them. Gradually the features took on a 
familiar expression. His face grew paler un- 
der the brush. A few touches — the scene 
was complete. The man was dead — his eyes 
wide open, staring at me.” 

My uncle paused and looked earnestly into 
my face. 

“ It was a bit of your professional experi- 
ence,” said I. “ Something had reminded you 
of it.” 

“ The night before I dreamed about it,” he 
answered. “My mind, released from the com- 
mand of my will, betrayed me.” 

“ A strange power ! ” I exclaimed. 


6o 


THE MASTER OF SILENCE 


“ Incredible to you ! Impossible to acquire 
unless the work begins at birth, and then the 
possibilities are infinite,” said he, drawing his 
chair closer to mine. “ You know what I 
have done. Start the new-born mind on any 
highway and see how it hurries along. You 
can do more, working a little while over the 
cradle, than all the preachers under heaven, 
after its occupant has grown beyond your min- 
istry. I tell you, sir, the world is indifferent to 
its children. Neglected by their parents, sub- 
ject to hired tenderness or none at all; left to 
the care of ignorant or depraved nurses, and 
often taught little but selfishness and greed of 
gain, the . children of men are surrounded by 
destructive agencies. Can we wonder that the 
human mind loses in infancy so much of its 
native power ? But so the generations of 
earth are growing up, bearing embittered fruit 
and sowing its seed to the four winds. Who 
cares for the mind and body of a child has the 
highest possible mission — the most sacred of 
all trusts. He must give it all his time and 
strength. He must lead its mind into green 


THE MASTER OF SILENCE 


6l 


pastures; he must share its joys; he must know 
its hopes and fears; he must give it hold on 
lines of thought that reach into eternity, which 
will sooner or later flood it with inspiration; he 
must see that the brain has a sufficient founda- 
tion of flesh and blood and bone; he must give 
it all his life until the germs of power are de- 
veloped.” 

“Unfortunately,” said I, “most parents have 
other things to do and think of.” 

“ Parentage is a crime under such circum- 
stances. It has peopled the world with fools 
and knaves. It delays the coming of Christ’s 
kingdom. There are a few wise men, but they 
are held down as gravitation holds the rock. 
There are laws of attraction in the world of 
mind as in that of matter. Good and evil are 
its poles. Every atom between them is held 
in place by the operation of opposing forces. 
The general mass of mind lies within narrow 
zones on both sides of the equatorial line of 
this imaginary world. Its attraction prevents 
any men from rising far above or descending 
far below it. I tell you, sir, the intellectual 


62 


THE MASTER OF SILENCE 


world has degrees of latitude and longitude 
which determine every man’s location. Eman- 
cipated from the forces I have described, my 
son has risen to a level beyond the attainment 
of men under ordinary conditions. Hypocrisy 
and deceit are things of which he knows noth- 
ing. I do not ascribe to him, mind you, the 
possession of saintly virtues. He is a man in 
whom the best potentialities of mind and body 
have been developed. I have carefully avoid- 
ed the danger of making him a morbid, spirit- 
ual creature. His body is quite as wonderful 
as his mind.” 

My uncle had been pacing restlessly up and 
down the room as he spoke, often pausing be- 
fore me and uttering his words vehemently, 
with quick gestures and flashing eyes. He did 
not, seemingly, expect an answer to his re- 
mark, for, as he ceased speaking, he stepped be- 
fore one of the windows and stood for a mo- 
ment looking Out upon the courtyard. 

“ See ! ” said he suddenly, motioning to me. 

I stepped to his side and, looking through the 
window, saw Rayel running across the lawn 


THE MASTER OF SILENCE 63 

with the lion on his shoulders. When the 
beast sprang down he seized it by the mane 
and tossed it about like one with the strength 
of Hercules. Here was a man who exercised 
his rightful dominion over animated nature ! 

“ The beast is very fond of him,” said my 
uncle, “ and a movement of his finger is suf- 
ficient to control it.” 

“ Why did you adopt a pet so terrible ? ” I 
asked. 

“To secure isolation,” he answered. “ He’s 
an object of terror to intruders, and a source 
of delight to us.” 

“ You have snakes here, too,” I ventured. 

“Yes, and for the same reason, But they 
can’t harm you now. Since you came we have 
killed them. They have been good friends to 
me, but you were a stranger, and your life 
would have been in danger every day. Years 
ago I procured a score of them from the moun- 
tains of Pennsylvania and put them into the 
thickets. They multiplied like rats, and so I 
was armed against invasion. 

“To prevent their escape I sank a screen of 


64 


THE MASTER OF SILENCE 


wire two feet below the ground along the base 
of the walls; I also posted a warning inside 
my gate. Long ago I began to destroy them, 
and there were only a few left when you came. 
They were good friends to me — excellent 
friends ! ” he repeated, rubbing his hands with 
a grim smile. “ For eighteen years I have 
been able to carry on my work unmolested. 
No knowledge of what was transpiring outside 
this little world has ever reached me.” 

“ How did you begin the work of teaching 
this interior language to Rayel ? ” I asked. 

“ By signs at first — gradually making them 
more simple and suggestive. The elimination 
of signs kept pace with the development of his 
intuitions. It was slow work and hard work, 
but I gave all my time to it. After he became 
familiar with a sign, I began to make it less 
pantomimic, until finally a lift of the eyebrow, 
a movement of the lips, or an inclination of the 
head served to express my meaning. In time 
he could detect the passing shades of expres- 
sion in my eyes and understand them. Look 
at me,” said he, laying his hand on my head 


THE MASTER OF SILENCE 65 

and watching my eyes as the firelight shone 
upon them, for it was now evening. 

“Don’t you know, my boy, that your eyes 
reflect what is passing in your mind ? Then 
there are countless nerves and muscles in your 
face which proclaim thought. They aid my 
intuitions to discover what you do not speak. 

You wonder — ah ! you are afraid ! — afraid of 

^ » 
me. 

I started in my chair, for while he was look- 
ing into my eyes a strange gleam came into 
his own. He turned about suddenly and look- 
ed into the bright fire that burned on the grate 
before us. 

“ Never fear,” he continued, nervously twirl- 
ing a lock of his white hair. “ Never fear, sir 
— I am not mad. Not yet. I have been afraid 
of it, but my reason will outlast my life. Do 
you ever pray ? ” 

“ Every day,” I answered. 

“ Then you employ the interior language. 
We commune directly with the Holy Spirit. 
You get some message from Him every day 
more satisfactory than words. It’s the answer 


66 


THE MASTER OF SILENCE 


of your prayers. I tell you, sir, words are an 
invention of the devil. Do you like Rayel ? ” 
he asked, turning upon me abruptly. 

“You need have no doubt of that,” I an- 
swered, “ or of my willingness to look after 
him if it should be necessary — to take him 
away with me and cherish him as I would a 
brother.” 

“ Good ! Good ! ” he exclaimed, smiling and 
rubbing his hands joyfully. “ I have not long 
to live. When the time comes, take him out 
among the knaves and fools ! But we must 
hurry: our time is short. We must prepare 
him for a second birth. You will find him an 
apt pupil — a very apt one. He already knows 
more of the world than I thought possible. I 
don’t think you will find him troublesome — he 
can help you; he will teach you wisdom; he 
will enlarge the issues of your life. My fortune 
will be ample for his needs: use it as you see 
fit. I have one servant left,” he said, drawing 
his chair closer to mine and speaking scarcely 
above a whisper: “ I would like this to be his 
home when I am dead. It will be better, how- 


THE MASTER OF SILENCE 


67 


ever, to place him in some public institution 
where he can be well provided for. I shall leave 
a sufficient allowance for him. The manner of 
its bestowal I leave entirely to your judgment. 
There were two of them — you have seen the 
other. He was a faithful fellow. They were 
poor fools, both of them, but uncommonly 
wise,” he continued. “ They kept it to them- 
selves. I found them in an asylum twenty-five 
years ago. They called them idiots. Idiots ! 
God help us ! ” 

That strange light seemed to kindle in his 
eyes again while he was speaking, and it con- 
veyed anything but a cheerful suggestion to 
my mind. 

“ There is this difference between idiots 
and madmen,” he continued. “ The former 
are born outside the pale of human sympathy; 
the latter overstep it. In either case they are 
not of this earth — they are embodied spirits liv- 
ing in a world, of their own creation, biding the 
time of liberation from the flesh. And do you 
know, there are more madmen in the world 
than it dreams of? ” 


68 


THE MASTER OF SILENCE 


He stopped with a tone of sharp interroga- 
tion and looked squarely into my face. 

“ There are undoubtedly many of them,” 
said I. 

“ The lines of monomania all lead to mad- 
ness/’ he continued. “ The deeper one plunges 
into the mysteries of life the nearer he ap- 
proaches it. But, mark you, one man may 
venture further than another. For years I have 
lived in fear of two things — madness and death. 
Not on my account, but I had Rayel to think 
of.” 

My uncle rose to his feet before he had 
ceased speaking and walked stealthily on his 
tiptoes to an open door, where he stood for a 
moment listening. I could hear nothing but 
the sound of the wind whistling in the chim- 
ney. 

“ Wait here,” he whispered presently, and 
then disappeared through the door, closing it 
after him. I held my watch down to the fire- 
light and saw it was near eleven o’clock. I felt 
drowsy, and had almost fallen asleep, when my 
uncle returned, carrying a lantern. “ Rayel is 


■ THE MASTER OF SILENCE 69 

asleep,” said he, in a whisper. “ Won’t you 
come with me ? — it will not take long.” 

“ Certainly,” said I, rising, and waiting for 
him to lead the way. He put on his antique 
hat and threw a shawl over his shoulders. 

“ It’s a chilly night,” said he. “ You’d bet- 
ter wear another coat.” 

I drew on my overcoat at once, wondering 
what new experience awaited me. Holding 
the lantern in front of him, he proceeded slow- 
ly and feebly across the rear courtyard, and 
unlocked a door in one of the side wings of the 
house, through which we passed into a large 
unfurnished room. 

“ I always wait till he’s asleep,” said my un- 
cle, shuffling across the room and unlocking 
another door on its opposite side. “ He’s nev- 
er been here — never yet,” he continued, pulling 
the door open. The dim light of the lantern 
shone out upon a thicket of fragrant spruce and 
cedar. As I stepped down upon the ground, 
following in the steps of my uncle, I could hear 
the murmur of the great pines towering far 
above our heads. Slowly we made our way 


70 


THE MASTER OF SILENCE 


through the dense undergrowth, and soon en- 
tered an open space carpeted with pine needles 
and moss. It was a circular plot in the thicket, 
and out of its centre rose an immense pine, 
whose upper branches wholly obscured the 
sky. My uncle hung his lantern on a knot pro- 
truding from the trunk of the tree, and slowly 
knelt upon the ground, covering his face with his 
hands. Suddenly he beckoned to me, and I 
knelt down beside him. 

“ Listen ! ” said he. “ Do you hear voices ? 
She comes to me here. Can you see her — my 
wife ? Look about you, do you not see her ? ” 

He laid his trembling hand upon my shoul- 
der. Again I saw that awful gleam in his eyes. 
The gruesome suggestion he had made set my 
nerves tingling, and I peered about among the 
shadows of that dimly lighted recess, half ex- 
pecting some vision to greet my eyes. Then 
there came a loud rustling of the branches high 
above us. The lantern light flared up and sud- 
denly went out, leaving us in total darkness. 

“ She is here !” he whispered, in excitement. 
“ Sit still — do not speak.” 


THE MASTER OF SILENCE 


7 


A deep silence, intensified by the sound of 
the night wind in the trees around us, followed 
my uncle’s words. The going out of the light 
he had seemed to regard as a signal from the 
spirit world, and I sat still as he bade me, not 
doubting that his acute senses had penetrated 
the veil which limited my own vision. I had 
seen so many revelations of his strange power 
that I now sat awestruck and afraid, waiting for 
some word from him to end my suspense. I 
could see nothing in the darkness, but I could 
hear my uncle breathing heavily, as if trying 
to suppress his emotion. Suddenly there was a 
stir in the bushes near us. Then I heard a step 
like that of a man on the thickly covered earth 
close by my side. I stretched out prone upon 
the ground, covering my face with my hands. 
I could hear a sound as of some one groping 
about in the darkness, and then I felt the touch 
of a strange hand upon my shoulder. 


CHAPTER VI 


T SHRANK from the hand that touched me 
and, moving quickly aside, struck a match 
and peered around. By its light I could dis- 
cern the form of a man standing near the edge 
of the thicket. Rising to my feet I took down 
the lantern and lighted it. There, standing 
before me, was the grinning mute who had ad- 
mitted me to the house. My uncle, who was 
still kneeling, rose feebly to his feet, his eyes 
wet with tears. 

“ Good friend ! ” said he, taking the lantern 
from me and handing it to the mute. “He al- 
way comes for me here.’ 1 

We followed the old servant in silence 
through the thick boughs of cedar until we 
came to the door of a low-roofed wooden build- 
ing that stood by itself in the thicket. The 
mute opened the door, ushering us into a small 
room containing a bed and some simple furni- 


72 


THE MASTER OF SILENCE 


73 


ture. A comfortable wood fire was burning in 
a large open stove, and we both sat down in 
front of it, shivering from exposure to the chilly 
air of the night. My uncle handed a key to 
the mute, who unlocked a cupboard, taking 
from it a decanter of whiskey, which he set be- 
fore us with glasses. 

“It will warm you,” said my uncle, pouring 
out the spirits: “ I have seen my wife. She al- 
ways comes to me there — when the light goes 
out. She knows your heart better than I. We 
shall leave Rayel to your care. It is the last 
time I shall come here. My work is nearly 
finished.” 

We emptied our glasses in silence, but my 
mind was busy thinking on those impressive 
words, “ She always comes to me there — 
when the light goes out.” 

It was strange — this going out of the light 
just at that moment. Was it not possible, I 
asked myself, that the lantern, being always 
hung on the same projection, was thus in the 
way of a current of air passing down the trunk 
of the tree when a gust of wind struck its lofty 


7 4 


THE MASTER OF SILENCE 


branches ? If so, the knot would naturally con- 
duct the current into the opening at the top of 
the lantern. My reflections were interrupted 
by my uncle, who rose, and, taking a candle, 
asked me to accompany him. I followed him into 
a cellar filled with casks and barrels contain- 
ing, as I supposed, wine and provisions for fu- 
ture use. Returning, we passed through a 
large room, in one end of which many boxes 
and barrels were stored. I afterward learned 
that there was a large garden and poultry yard 
in this lonely nook where my uncle’s only ser- 
vant was sequestered. 

I was glad when we started back through 
the thicket, for the hour was late and I felt the 
need of sleep. 

“ He gives us our food,” said my uncle, when 
we were at length in the courtyard. “ We 
have enough of everything needful — but little 
meat. It destroys mental power. It is fools’ 
food.” 

Next day my uncle was unable to leave his 
bed. I determined to go to the hotel for my 
baggage and to post some letters, one of which 


THE MASTER OF SILENCE 75 

gave Mr. Earl an account of my experiences 
since the October night when I became an in- 
mate of that house. 

It was midwinter now, and the long stretch- 
es of pasturage and meadow land outside the 
walls were blasted and sere when the old mute, 
whom I had seen twice before, let me out 
of the big gate. When I returned he was there 
to open the gate for me and help me with my 
baggage. 

I found Rayel at his father’s bedside. The 
sick man was asleep, and I went at once to the 
library, where Rayel soon came, as was his 
custom in the afternoon, for a lesson in talking. 
Both my uncle and myself had taken great 
pains to teach him this accomplishment, and 
his progress had been even more rapid than 
we thought possible. He caught the signifi- 
cance of words with astonishing ease, but found 
some difficulty in producing their sound. He 
went about it with great patience, however, re- 
peating the hardest words after me until he was 
able to pronounce them correctly. But al- 
though the work was often tedious we both got 


76 THE MASTER OF SILENCE 

much fun out of it. I had never heard the 
sound of laughter in that house. One day I 
broke its solemn spell by laughing heartily at 
the grotesque distortion of my cousin’s face in- 
cidental to the production of a difficult sound. 
He stopped suddenly and looked at me, half 
alarmed. This made me laugh more heartily, 
and he grasped my hand with the serious air 
of a physician feeling the pulse of his patient. 
Being assured there was no danger, he indulged 
in a little offhand cachinnation himself and was, 
I judged, well pleased with the trial, for he re- 
peated it frequently afterward, and greatly to 
his amusement. 

The word “ woman,” and others related to it, 
puzzled him not a little, for he had never seen 
a woman, except through the medium of my 
own mind and that of his father. The subject 
interested him, and he gave much serious 
thought to it, questioning me closely at some 
of our interviews, as if dissatisfied with the idea 
conveyed to him. Our discussions, however, 
had reached some slumbering chord in him, 
which, once touched, stirred his blood with its 


THE MASTER OF SILENCE 77 

vibrations. I do not think his isolation could 
have lasted much longer, for he became rest- 
less and eager to see the world. 

Rayel was greatly depressed by his father’s 
illness. For months after that night, the ex- 
citement of which had so hastened the failure 
of the old man’s strength, the silence of the 
great house was rarely broken by the sound of 
our voices. My uncle lay helpless in a deep 
sleep most of the time, never able to leave his 
bed until, revived by the freshness of approach- 
ing summer, he had strength enough to sit in 
an easy-chair by the window. Some fatal 
malady, the nature of which he did not dis- 
close to me, was evidently sapping his strength. 
I had urged him more than once to let me sum- 
mon a physician, but he would not permit me 
to do so. When summer came at last, he grew 
stronger, and was able to walk, supported by 
Rayel, to his chair in the open courtyard among 
the flowers. 

The lion, which had been confined in its cage 
most of the time since my uncle had grown 
so feeble as to need Rayel’s constant attention, 


yS THE MASTER OF SILENCE 

sickened and died in the warm days of early 
June. Rayel was sorely grieved by the death 
of his pet, and although he stood in the shadow 
of a far greater sorrow, he felt deeply the loss 
of this lifelong friend. The summer passed 
slowly, one day like another, casting on us the 
same burden of anxiety and silence. I spent 
much of the time in my uncle’s library, poring 
over his books and trying to shake off the 
melancholy thoughts suggested by my daily 
life. 

One day in early autumn, Rayel was sitting 
with me near an open window overlooking the 
courtyard, where his father was enjoying the 
open air. 

“He will die to-day,” said Rayel, calmly. 
“ He told me he would die to-day.” 

“ He seems the same as usual,” I said. “We 
cannot tell; he may live for months yet.” 

Rayel shook his head incredulously, and sat 
for a long time looking out of the window in 
silence. 

“And I will go with you then ? ” he asked, 
suddenly turning toward me. 


THE MASTER OF SILENCE 


79 


“Yes,” I answered. 

It was the first time he had ever asked me a 
question, for he could read my mind like an 
open book, and to him all questioning was un- 
necessary. 

While we were sitting there, thinking over 
our plans, my uncle summoned us by rapping 
with his cane. Rayel turned pale, and, with a 
whispered ejaculation, hurried out of the room 
and ran down the path to his father, followed 
closely by myself. My uncle was breathing 
heavily. 

“ Count it,” said he, feebly extending his 
hand. Rayel counted his pulse-beats. 

“ Ninety-four, and growing quicker! ” he ex- 
claimed, turning toward me with a frightened 
look. 

“ It won’t increase much,” my uncle whis- 
pered, feebly, but with a cool and professional 
air. “ It will go down soon, and then death 
will follow.” 

“ Be calm, Rayel,” he continued, almost 
sternly, as his son began weeping. “ Be calm, 
I say ! That music ! do you hear it, child ? Do 


8o 


THE MASTER OF SILENCE 


you see what is passing now ? Tell it. Let 
me hear you.” 

“ I cannot hear it,” said Rayel, looking ear- 
nestly into his father’s face. 

“ Hallucination ! ” he whispered, groping 
about until his hand rested on the head of 
his son, who was kneeling beside him. “ I 
seem to see millions of forms around me. I 
seem to hear them, but I cannot see you — nor 
hear you.” 

As if exhausted by the effort, his head fell 
back upon Rayel’s shoulder, and he lay for a 
time, his eyes closed, struggling for breath. 
The dyingman’s faculties would no longer obey 
the whip of his mighty will. Indeed, they had 
done him their final service, for in a few mo- 
ments he was dead. Tenderly and manfully, 
uttering no sound of grief, Rayel lifted the life- 
less body of his father, and bore it into the 
house. 


CHAPTER VII 


T N accordance with my uncle’s wish, which 
he had made known to Rayel, we bur- 
ied him the day following his death in the 
sunny courtyard where he had spent the 
last days of his life. The funeral arrange- 
ments were made as simple as possible, so as 
to exclude all except the functionaries whose 
presence was absolutely necessary. A rector 
of the Church of England read the service for 
the dead before the body was borne to its 
grave by the undertaker. When this brief cere- 
mony was over, and the great gates were closed 
again upon our seclusion, Rayel said to me: 

“ I must talk more with you now, if you will 
let me. He said you would help me after he 
was gone.” 

It seemed idle to assure him, who already 
knew my heart, of the happiness it would give 
me to fulfill the pledge of friendship made to 
my uncle. 


&2 


THE MASTER OF SILENCE 


“ Do you expect to see him again ? ” I 
asked. 

After a moment of the most serious reflec- 
tion, he said: 

“ Oh, yes, I shall see him again — when I die, 
then I shall see him. He has gone to the 
Great Father, who gives life, and who takes 
it away.” 

I found that Rayel, although entirely igno- 
rant of the creeds and dogmas prevailing among 
men, was profoundly religious, and that his 
simple faith was built upon the deepest founda- 
tions. He evidently gave much thought to the 
relationship between man and his Creator after 
he felt the sting of bereavement, but it was a 
subject to which he never referred in our con- 
versation, unless, perchance, it drifted in upon 
us. 

The weeks following my uncle’s death, dur- 
ing which I was busy with preparation for the 
new life that awaited us, Rayel spent in his 
studio working over some unfinished pictures. 
At my urgent«jrequest, he completed the head 
whose resemblance to Hester Chaffin had so 


THE MASTER OF SILENCE 


83 


startled and amazed me the night I saw it first, 
and he regarded it with fonder interest than he 
was wont to bestow upon the work of his 
brush. I believe that face was the closest pre- 
sentment of a human soul I shall ever see until 
standing, as I hope to stand some time, in the 
presence of the redeemed, where “ that which 
is imperfect shall be put away.” I have said 
that the picture bore a strong resemblance to 
Hester Chaffin, but her face contained only a 
suggestion of that fine quality which was so 
strongly presented in my cousin’s ideal. 

My uncle’s fortune, as described in his will, 
amounted to nearly $250, 000. The greater part 
of it — everything, indeed, but the house and 
grounds — was in cash, represented by certifi- 
cates of deposit accompanying the will, and 
bonds of the United States. There was a con- 
siderable bequest for me, whom he had named 
as executor of the will, which, however, I de- 
termined never to apply to my own use, except 
in case of Rayel’s death. A handsome annuity 
was provided for his only surviving servant. 
The remainder was left to Rayel. 


8 4 


THE MASTER OF SILENCE 


Having arranged for the maintenance of the 
old mute at an asylum not far from the city, 
our preparations to leave were soon complete. 
I was elated at the prospect of resuming my 
relations with the busy world outside that lone- 
ly habitation. My first step was to visit a law- 
yer for the purpose of ascertaining the legal 
formalities which I must observe as executor 
of the will. Rayel wished to go with me, and 
I gladly assented, for it seemed wise as an in- 
itiatory step in the new life that was awaiting 
him. He waved his hand to the mute, who 
stood looking at us through the big gates 
after we had passed out into the road, and 
then he walked on beside me in silence. The 
sun-shot haze of a beautiful autumn day hung 
over the face of nature, and his eyes wandered 
down the long stretches of landscape, and 
into the depths of the distant sky, rapt by 
the vision that was unfolding before him. The 
changing phases of the town he regarded with 
curious interest, which often expressed itself 
in childish exclamations of surprise as we made 
our way through the crowded streets. 


THE MASTER OF SILENCE 85 

He was constantly calling my attention to 
things which, though familiar and common- 
place to me, were little less than wonderful to 
him. 

“ Look ! ” said he, suddenly taking hold of 
my arm. “ There is a woman ! ” 

He spoke in an eager, excited whisper, 
and shyly stepped behind me as she passed 
us. 

“ They won’t hurt you,” said I, subduing my 
desire to laugh at his remark. 

Such unfamiliar exposure to the public eye 
soon began to grate upon his nerves. I did 
not wonder at it, for- nearly every one we met 
took a second look at his commanding figure, 
and some stared at him rudely. Remembering 
my own emotions when I first stood in his 
presence, I was not at all surprised that oth- 
ers were moved in a like manner. His were 
a face and form that stood out like those of 
some heroic statue in the throng of common 
mortals. 

The proving and recording of the will was 
left entirely in the hands of a reputable lawyer, 


86 


THE MASTER OF SILENCE 


who said that these formalities would not de- 
tain us longer than a week. 

We had determined to spend the winter in 
New York before going to England. Since 
reaching America my time had been quite fill- 
ed with work until my entrance upon the utter 
isolation of my uncle’s home. It was my ear- 
nest desire to see something of the big metrop- 
olis on the western Atlantic. Moreover, Mr. 
Earl had advised me in his letters to give Rayel 
a chance to know more of life in his own coun- 
try before bringing him to England. 

When at last the faithful old mute had gone 
to his new home, and we had turned our backs 
upon the silent and deserted mansion, Rayel 
was moved to bitter tears. The thought of its 
loneliness, now that its master was dead and 
we were leaving it, perhaps forever, brought 
sad feelings to my heart. How calmly the 
old pines whispered together as we walked 
down the road that morning I shall not soon 
forget. 

We reached the American metropolis early 
in October, three years after my first arrival 


THE MASTER OF SILENCE 87 

there from England. I rented comfortable 
apartments on Fifth Avenue, near Madison 
Square. As soon as Rayel had recovered from 
the fatigue and excitement of the trip, we set 
about unpacking his pictures and getting them 
framed. Our lightest room was reserved for a 
studio, and the paintings were hung under 
Rayel’s direction. 

We were scarcely settled in our new home 
when we received an unexpected call from a 
newspaper reporter. He had learned from an 
art dealer that we had some remarkable old 
paintings, and humbly begged the privilege of 
looking at them. We made him welcome, of 
course, but I explained to him that the collec- 
tion was wholly the work of my cousin, who 
was not yet old himself. In answer to his 
questions I assured him that the paintings 
would not be exhibited in the National Acad- 
emy, and that my cousin’s work had never ap- 
peared in any art exhibition whatever, at which 
he seemed greatly surprised. Rayel was still 
shy of strangers, and, as he was evidently a 
little annoyed at the presence of our visitor, I 


88 


THE MASTER OF SILENCE 


shielded him from the need of taking any part 
in our coversation. 

The next morning an article appeared in 
one of the leading dailies, which subjected us to 
a glare of publicity not at all to our taste. 

It went on to say that Signor Lanion, a 
young Spanish artist, had just arrived in New 

York and had taken apartments at No. 

Fifth Avenue. “Lanion” was the name which 
had appeared on our bill for picture-framing, 
the clerk who had waited on us having taken 
it down incorrectly. “Unfortunately,” the ar- 
ticle continued, “Signor Lanion does not speak 
English, and for that reason the reporter was 
unable to interview him.” 

The paper described Rayel’s personal charms 
at much length, and claimed the credit of hav- 
ing discovered a genius who, although still a 
youth, had done work worthy of an acknowl- 
edged master. 

We had deep respect for the influence of that 
newspaper before another week ended. Art 
managers, tailors, advertising agents, auction- 
eers and numerous men and women prompted 


THE MASTER OF SILENCE 


89 


by no motive but idle curiosity, besieged us 
until we bolted our doors in dismay against all 
comers. The mail, too, brought us missives 
of varying import from persons who had read 
the article, one of which was a polite letter 
from Francis Paddington, a Wall Street broker, 
whose name I had heard frequently during my 
American travels. 

“ It was not stated,” said he, referring to the 
newspaper article, “whether or not any of 
Signor Lanion’s paintings are for sale. If they 
are, I would be glad to look at them with a 
view to making some purchases for my art 
collection.” 

The letter suggested an idea worth consider- 
ing. Rayel worked rapidly and had already 
painted more pictures than we could hang to 
advantage in any but the most liberal quarters. 
He was at a loss to understand just what was 
meant by selling the pictures, but he was will- 
ing to sell them if they were not to be de- 
stroyed — at least some of them. Accordingly 
I wrote Mr. Paddington, appointing an hour 
when we would be glad to see him or his rep- 


90 


THE MASTER OF SILENCE 


resentative at our rooms. The gentleman 
himself did us the honor to call. After looking 
at the paintings, he expressed his willingness 
to buy the entire collection. I told him, how- 
ever, that we would not part with more than 
ten canvases, and he seemed glad to buy even 
that number at a price which was so far in ex- 
cess of our expectations that I was loath to 
accept it. Our beloved “Woman” — that was 
the title we had given Rayel’s strangely de- 
rived conception — was among the paintings 
included in the sale to Mr. Paddington. Rayel 
thought he could reproduce it, and for days 
after it was gone he made ineffectual efforts to 
paint another woman after the ideal of our 
hearts. But, alas ! try as he would, that face 
never came back to his canvas. Many beau- 
tiful faces were conjured by his masterful touch, 
but they were other faces, and none of them 
satisfied us. The failure made Rayel unhappy, 
and tears came to his eyes when the “Woman” 
was referred to, as if he were mourning the 
loss of a dear friend. 

Our patron had conceived a great liking for 


THE MASTER OF SILENCE 


9 


us, and we were soon invited to visit his house 
“and meet a few of his friends at dinner.” It 
would give us an opportunity to see the “Wo- 
man” — perhaps to buy her back again — and 
we were strongly inclined to take advantage 
of it. Our patron’s residence was one of the 
largest and most elegant on Fifth Avenue. It 
was a matter of common fame that his enter- 
tainments were the cause of more envy and 
heartburning in the fashionable sisterhood than 
any other events of the season. I had some 
doubt about the propriety of taking Rayel to 
such a place, unaccustomed as he was to the 
refinements and conventionalities of fashion- 
able life. However, he had set his heart upon 
going — he was so eager to see his beloved 
picture — and I did not oppose his wish. In 
writing our acceptance of the invitation I cor- 
rected Mr. Paddington’s error regarding our 
name, and explained the rechristening we had 
received in the public prints. 


CHAPTER VIII 


N the day of our appointment for dinner 



at Mr. Paddington’s the newspapers 
were filled with accounts of a sensational bank 
robbery, which had occurred in Wall Street the 
night before. Between midnight and one 
o’clock in the morning, thieves had entered the 
Metropolitan Bank, overpowered the watch- 
man, broken into the vaults and stolen half a 
million dollars in currency without leaving 
any clew behind them of the slightest value to 
the police. The subject interested Rayel in- 
tensely, and at our breakfast that morning we 
talked of little else. 

“When they have found the thieves what 
will they do with them ?” he asked. 

“Send them to prison,” I answered, “where 
thieves are kept apart from the rest of human- 


ity.” 


“And yet these thieves were not in prison. 


92 


THE MASTER OF SILENCE 93 

They could not have robbed the bank if they 
had been in prison.” 

“ True, but there are a good many thieves in 
the world who are not suspected. They look 
like honest men and are highly successful in 
concealing their dishonesty.” 

“I should think,” he said thoughtfully, “that 
one would know a thief by his face.” 

“Remember,” said I, “that all men are not 
like you. Most of them are easily deceived.” 

“Why, then, Kendric!” he exclaimed joy- 
fully, “I can do some good with this power of 
mine.” 

This conversation may seem commonplace 
enough, but it stands in close relation to im- 
portant events which will shortly claim our 
attention. The subject which it introduces 
was not soon abandoned. We talked about it 
on our way to the Paddingtons’ that evening, 
where we were cordially received by our host, 
and introduced to a large company of ladies 
and gentlemen. 

Rayel’s wonderful skill with the brush had 
evidently been the subject of some discussion 


94 


THE MASTER OF SILENCE 


among Mr. Paddington’s guests. It was re- 
ferred to frequently, and somewhat to the em- 
barrassment of my cousin, in the exchange of 
greetings that followed our introduction. 

Greatly to the relief of my fears Rayel seemed 
quite at ease. He acknowledged the compli- 
ments paid him with gravity and self-posses- 
sion, but with few words. All eyes were raised 
to his face, as he stood head and shoulders 
above a group of ladies and gentlemen who 
had gathered about him. Never had his pres- 
ence seemed so magnetic and impressive since 
the first time I saw him in his father’s house. 
Now, as then, a new inspiration was stirring 
his blood and charging every nerve with 
the wonderful magnetism of perfected man- 
hood. 

The last person presented to us was a young 
lady of unusual beauty, whom I noticed for 
some moments standing across the room in 
earnest conversation with our host. Presently 
he made his way toward us with the lady on 
his arm. 

“My daughter, Mr. Lane, whom I shall ask 


THE MASTER OF SILENCE 


95 


you to escort to dinner,” said he, addressing 
Rayel. After I had been introduced to the 
young lady she took Rayel’s arm, and the com- 
pany proceeded to the dining-hall. My seat 
at the table was almost directly opposite 
Rayel. His grave and dignified demeanor was 
made doubly conspicuous by the coquettish 
airs and ready tongue of the young lady who 
sat beside him. Under a steady fire of compli- 
ments and questions and artful glances I saw 
that he began to grow uneasy. 

“That was a beautiful portrait you painted!” 
exclaimed Miss Paddington, looking senti- 
mental. 

“Thank you,” said he; “my cousin also ad- 
mires it, but I must own that it does not quite 
suit me.” 

“Perhaps you are an admirer of the lady it 
represents,” said she, peering shyly into his 
eyes. “The Count de Montalle has fallen in 
love with her and has borrowed the portrait 
from my father.” 

“Ze picture — ah! monsieur, it is beautiful,” 
said the Count, who sat near them. “But ze 


9 6 


THE MASTER OF SILENCE 


lady — she sat for me long ago and I had ze 
honor myself to paint her portrait.” 

He was a thin, wiry Frenchman, with small, 
black eyes, a forehead sloping to a bald crown, 
an aquiline nose and a pointed chin, adorned 
with an imperial. The face was almost mephis- 
tophelian in effect. He had painted her por- 
trait! Was the man an impostor? I asked 
myself. 

“The Count is an artist himself, you know,” 
said Miss Paddington. 

“Yes — an artist?” asked Rayel in a half-in- 
credulous tone. Then he looked inquiringly 
at the gentleman referred to, as if doubtful of 
his own understanding of the words he had 
repeated. 

“ Yes,” said the Count with emphasis. “For 
twenty years I have devote myself to ze art.” 

“ To what art, sir ? ” asked Rayel, in a tone 
suggesting doubt. 

I was now thoroughly frightened at the seri- 
ous turn of the dialogue. Was this “ Count ” a 
pretender and one of the many bogus noblemen 
of whom I had read? Rayel was sounding him, 


THE MASTER OF SILENCE 


97 


that was quite evident. I saw now the mis- 
take I had made in bringing my cousin to such 
a place. 

“ Quel impudence ! ” exclaimed the insulted 
nobleman, under his breath. 

“Forgive me, sir,” quickly answered Rayel, 
“ I did not know it was wrong to ask you.” 

“ I wish you would paint my portrait, Mr. 
Lane,” said the young lady, who did not seem 
to appreciate the gravity of the situation. 

“ That would be easy enough,” he answered. 

“ Would it ? Ah, but I fear you would find 
me too plain a subject. I am not beautiful, you 
know, but if I wore my best clothes you might 
think I would do.” 

For some time Miss Paddington continued to 
spin out threads of small talk, while Rayel sat 
listening. The dinner was nearly over when the 
climax came which I had already begun to fear. 

“ It is strange,” said Rayel thoughtfully. 
“ You speak what is not true, Miss Paddington. 
You said that the Prince of Wales gave you 
the beautiful opal, but tell me — was it not your 
father who gave it you ? ” 


THE MASTEk OE SILENCE 

He waited a moment for her answer. 

“ Oh, I understand now,” he continued. 
“People do not always speak the truth — do 
they ? ” 

The young lady turned red with embarrass- 
ment, while an unnatural smile played upon 
her lips. 

“ But — but what is the use of talking then ? ” 
he asked. No one seemed disposed to answer. 

“ It is strange,” he continued, with childlike 
naivete, turning to the young lady sitting at 
his left, “you have been laughing as if you 
were very happy, but you have felt more like 
weeping. This must be a very sad world! ” — 
He ceased speaking as if some suspicion of the 
pain his words were causing had suddenly 
come to him. 

The whole company turned its eyes upon the 
two. The young lady’s face became suddenly 
pale and almost horror-stricken. Rayel’s words 
were spoken in such a gentle and sympathetic 
manner that every one was mystified. 

“Have you read about the great robbery 
that occurred last night ? ” asked Mr. Padding- 


THE MASTER OF SILENCE 


99 


ton, with the evident purpose of diverting at- 
tention from the young lady. “ The vaults of 
the Metropolitan Bank on Wall Street were 
blown open with dynamite, and half a million 
dollars were stolen. No trace of the thieves 
has been discovered.” 

“Too bad! ” exclaimed half a dozen of the 
guests seeking to enhance interest in the sub- 
ject. 

“ Zey were very bold about it,” said the 
Count, as he lighted a piece of sugar soaked in 
cognac and held it over his coffee. 

Just at that moment a singular thing hap- 
pened. The lights grew dim and suddenly 
went out, as if the gas had been turned off. 
The burning cognac cast a white flickering 
light upon the face of the man who had just 
spoken. 

“ You say there is no trace of the thieves,” 
said Rayel. “ That is strange, for one of them 
is in this room sitting at your table.” 

Only one face was visible, and all eyes were 
turned upon it, for now the effect of that pale 
light keeping it in view was indescribably 


100 


THE MASTER OF SILENCE 


weird. The eyes were suddenly turned in the 
direction of Rayel, and a devilish glare came 
in them for an instant, when the face suddenly 
seemed to shrink back into darkness. The 
ladies and some of their more gallant escorts 
rushed precipitately from the room. The ser- 
vants hurried in with candles, but light was no 
sooner restored than the guests who still re- 
mained at table rose, as if by general consent, 
and left the dining-hall. Miss Paddington and 
Rayel were the last to leave the table. When 
they had passed out into the drawing-room her 
father came and took her arm, bowing coldly 
to my cousin. It was evident that our pres- 
ence was no longer desired in the house of the 
Paddingtons. And no wonder! 

“Let us go,” I said, proceeding to the coat 
room. The Count met us on the way. 

“You are a liar — a jackass!” he hissed into 
Rayel’s ear. 

Hastily drawing on our coats we stepped out 
into the chilly night air and walked leisurely 
down the deserted avenue. Neither of us spoke 
for some moments. Presently Rayel asked: 


THE MASTER OF SILENCE IOI 

“ What is a jackass ? ” 

He stopped and took my hand as if expect- 
ing an answer of great moment. 

“ A man who always tells the truth in this 
world — he is a jackass,” I replied. 

I was a little irritated by the trying experi- 
ences we had been through. Perhaps that is 
why my answer savored so strongly of cyni- 


cism. 


CHAPTER IX 


T)AINFUL as had been our introduction to 
polite society, the reaction which followed 
it was scarcely less so. Next day we stayed 
indoors until evening, when we ventured out 
for a walk with fear and trembling lest the 
newspapers had already increased our fame 
and our mortification. The twilight of a cloud- 
less autumn day was closing in upon the city, 
and the keen, bracing winds which sweep over 
the American metropolis from the sea brought 
the color to our faces. We walked down 
Broadway, now quite deserted, in silence, and 
as we were passing Wallack’s Theatre Rayel 
stopped suddenly, and stood for a moment look- 
ing into the brightly lighted foyer. Stepping 
in, he beckoned me to follow. I immediately 
saw what had attracted his eye, for on an easel 
just inside the entrance was the portrait of our 
woman. On a placard below the picture was 


103 


THE MASTER OF SILENCE 


103 


the name “ Edna Bronson.” Our surprise was 
mingled with sad regret at seeing it playing a 
false part to serve the ends of an unscrupulous 
manager. 

“ Perhaps she is here! ” suddenly exclaimed 
Rayel. 

“ That is very unlikely,” I answered, “ but 
we shall see.” 

I bought tickets for the evening’s perform- 
ance and we hastened home, strangely elated, 
to dress for the play. 

Our seats were in one of the lower prosce- 
nium boxes and quite clearly exposed to the 
gaze of the thousands who filled the theatre in 
winding rows, ascending and receding to the 
roof high above us. The garish decorations, 
the gay throng bedizened with jewels spark- 
ling in the light and the hundreds of fair faces 
and bright eyes that were turned toward us 
presented a spectacle entirely new to Rayel. 
Shortly the curtain rose and the play began. 
Its first scene was a counterfeit of real stage 
life in an English theatre. An important per- 
formance is impending and at the last moment 


104 


THE MASTER OF SILENCE 


both the leading lady and her understudy are 
suddenly taken ill. The management is in a 
quandary. In the midst of its confusion the 
stage carpenter suggests that he has a daugh- 
ter who can play the part. When this func- 
tionary came upon the scene my interest in the 
play began to wax stronger. Hester Chaffin’s 
father had been a stage carpenter, and this turn 
in the scene startled me not a little after hav- 
ing found our picture in the foyer. 

The carpenter’s suggestion is at first treated 
with ridicule. He insists that she has learned 
the part from witnessing the rehearsals, and 
urges the managers to give her a trial. The 
performance must begin in four hours or be 
postponed. It is found that the costumes pre- 
pared for the part will fit the young lady. 
They consent to try her, the company is hastily 
summoned together for rehearsal, and the cur- 
tain falls on the first act. The audience waited 
impatiently for it to rise again and show what 
fortune might have in store for the carpenter’s 
daughter, but of all that audience I was prob- 
ably the most impatient. 


THE MASTER OF SILENCE 105 

“ There is the Count,” whispered Rayel, di- 
recting my attention to the opposite box. The 
diabolical little Frenchman was there, sure 
enough, sitting next to the rail, and sweeping 
the audience with his opera-glasses. 

Soon the curtain was rung up and the re- 
hearsal began which was to test the powers of 
the venturesome young lady. Suddenly she 
appears at the rear of the stage dressed for her 
part in Elizabethan costume. She is greeted 
with loud applause, and she stands a moment, 
waiting for silence. The lights have been 
turned down and I cannot see her face dis- 
tinctly. Before the last ripple of applause is 
quieted, she advances down the centre of the 
stage and begins to speak her lines. That 
voice! What is there in it that thrills me so 
strangely ? When she ceases speaking she is 
standing almost within reach of my hand. 
Suddenly her eyes meet mine and I see Hester 
Chaffin standing there on the stage and look- 
ing into my face. She recognizes me, for she 
seems confused and proceeds with evident em- 
barrassment. 


IO 6 THE MASTER OF SILENCE 

I turned to Rayel — he, too, was deeply mov- 
ed by this great surprise. 

“ Our woman has come to life,” said he, in 
tremulous whispers. “ I knew we would see 
her sometime.” 

How she had changed! She was little more 
than a child when I saw her last : now she was 
almost a woman, but not more beautiful than 
when I bade her good-bydn the moonlight at 
her father’s gate — long, long ago, it seemed to 
me now. Was the scene I had witnessed a 
passage in her own life since I had left Liver- 
pool ? At the close of the act an usher carried 
my card to her. Presently I was summoned 
to one of the corridors where a lady was wait- 
ing for me. 

“ Is this Kendric Lane ?” she asked, extend- 
ing her hand. 

“ It is,” I responded. 

“ I have heard of you often. Miss Bronson is 
an old acquaintance of yours, whom you knew 
as Hester Chaffin. Would you like to see her ? ” 

“ I wish to see her to - night, if possible,” 
said I. 


THE MASTER OF SILENCE 


107 


“ May I ask you, then, to go to this address 
and wait for us until the performance is over ? 
Hand this card to the night clerk of the hotel 
and he will show you to our rooms.” 

Scribbling a few words upon the card, she 
gave it to me, and hurried behind the scenes. 

Rayel and I immediately left the theatre and 
walked to our apartments. The play would 
soon be over and we had no time to lose. On 
the way home I noticed that he frequently 
turned about and peered through the darkness 
as if expecting some one to join us. He said 
nothing, however, and as I was so preoccupied 
by my own thoughts, I did not ask for whom 
he was looking. 

“ Shall I not go with you ? ” he asked, when 
we had reached home. 

“ You had better wait up for me; I shall not 
be gone long,” I answered. 

“ I can walk back again when we get there, 
or perhaps I can wait for you in the hotel ? ” 
said he. 

He was not yet accustomed to life in a great 
city, and it did not seem wise, either, to per- 


io8 


THE MASTER OF SILENCE 


mit him to walk home alone, or to wait for me 
in the hotel among strangers. He did not 
seem quite content to stay, however, and 
there was a troubled expression on his face, 
which was new to it, and which I could not 
put out of my mind after I had left the house. 
The hotel to which I had been directed was 
on Union Square. It was not far from our 
apartments, and I intended to walk there, but 
I had not gone half a block before the street 
was lit up with a vivid flash of lightning, fol- 
lowed by deafening thunder, and the wind 
blew damp in my face. I hurried toward 
Third Avenue, intending to mount one of the 
horse cars going down-town, but suddenly a 
fierce gust of wind swept over me, sowing 
great drops of rain along the pavement. I 
looked about for a cab. The street was de- 
serted and so dark that I could see nothing 
except the gloomy rows of brown stone that 
stood on either side. While I was looking 
backward another flash of lightning illumined 
the street. What man was that coming in the 
distance ? Was it Rayel ? No, that was 


THE MASTER OF SILENCE IO9 

scarcely possible. I had only caught a mo- 
mentary glimpse of him in the quick flash. 
He was tall and erect like Rayel, and I 
thought the hat was his. But my imagination 
must have tricked me after all, for nothing 
showed clearly. I walked back a few steps 
and listened. I could hear no footsteps, but 
then he might have followed me, and I ought 
to be sure. So I called, “ Rayel ! Rayel!” 
twice, and waited for an answer, but could 
hear none. I had not time to go back to our 
rooms, as Hester was undoubtedly waiting for 
me now, and Rayel was certainly not the man 
I had seen, or he would have answered me. 
So I hurried along without giving any further 
thought to my fears. But where was Third 
Avenue ? Its character was not then so sharp- 
ly defined as in these days of elevated rail- 
roads — perhaps I had passed it. I had al- 
ready walked a long distance, and I had not 
yet recognized that thoroughfare. I could 
hear footsteps behind me and I determined to 
wait a moment and inquire my way. 

“I am going there — walk along with me,” 


no 


THE MASTER OF SILENCE 


said the man whom I questioned. Just then 
we passed under a street lamp. I observed 
that he wore a large coat and muffler and that 
he was walking under an umbrella. Another 
man, also under an umbrella, fell in with us at 
the next corner. As we walked along in si- 
lence I heard some person coming at a run 
down the street quite a distance behind us. I 
was listening to this sound when I received a 
terrific blow on the back of the head. I fell 
forward, one side of my face striking heavily 
upon the pavement. Strangely enough, I 
seemed unable to make any outcry, but I had 
not lost consciousness, for, as I lay with my 
face resting on the wet stones, I could feel the 
rain drops falling on it. I could hear those 
quick footsteps coming nearer. Yes, I could 
hear Rayel’s voice shouting in a loud and 
angry tone, but, try as I would, I could not 
utter a sound. As I listened, the two men 
clutched me with strong hands and dragged 
me through an open door, which quickly 
closed behind them. It was no sooner shut 
than Rayel threw himself against it with 


THE MASTER OF SILENCE 


II! 


terrific force. I could hear the door groan 
and shake under the strain. Once — twice, I 
was struck with cruel force upon the head — 
then a loud roaring in my ears drowned 
everything. 

I can remember well the first return of 
consciousness. It was like the slow breaking 
of dawn in the sky. I could hear voices sing- 
ing: 

Hark ! hark ! my soul ! angelic voices swelling 
O’er earth’s green fields and ocean’s wave-beat shore. 

I could just distinguish those words. Where 
was I ? Strange thoughts began trooping 
through my mind. Then a great wave of 
emotion swept over me. I could hear a low 
moaning sound that came from my own 
throat. I could feel the hot tears rolling 
down my cheeks. A gentle hand was brush- 
ing them away and some one was speaking to 
me. I was lying on a soft bed. A sweet- 
faced woman was bending over me, whom I 
had never seen before. 

“ Where am I ? ” 


1 1 2 


THE MASTER OF SILENCE 


“ In the hospital,” she answered. 

“ The singing — who is singing ? ” I asked. 

“ It is the chapel choir,” she answered; “the 
services are nearly over now. It is Sunday.” 

“ Is Rayel here ? ” 

“Your friend? yes, he has been with you 
every day.” 

“ How long ? ” 

“ Almost a month.” 

I tried to ask other questions, but a drowsy 
feeling overcame me and I fell asleep. 

When I awoke again Rayel was sitting be- 
side me. As I opened my eyes he leaned 
over and kissed my hands. 

“ They thought you were dead once,” he 
said; “but I knew you were not dead — I knew 
you were not dead.” I lay for a moment try- 
ing to collect my thoughts. My head was in 
tight bandages and something was binding 
my chest. 

“ Where is Hester ? ” I asked. Rayel did 
not answer. He was not there, but somebody 
was holding one of my hands. It was a lady 
kneeling beside me, her face leaning forward 


THE MASTER OF SILENCE 1 1 3 

upon the bed. Who could it be ? I closed 
my eyes and. listened to the rustling of wither- 
ed leaves outside the window, and the low 
humming of insects in the autumn sun. These 
were prophetic sounds, and they opened the 
gates of thought and memory. A new life 
was coming now. What was it to be ? Again 
I felt myself drifting into sleep. I tried to 
keep my eyes open and resist the drowsiness 
that overcame me, but in vain. When I 
awoke Rayel had returned. 

“ You have slept a long time,” said he. 

“ When I fell asleep a lady was here.” 

“Yes, it was our ‘Woman,’” he replied — 
“ the lady you love. She has come every day 
to see you.” 

“Where is she now ? ” 

“ She had to go away, but she will soon 
come back again.” 

“ Who brought me here ? ” 

“I broke down the door — I found you there. 
You could not see me nor speak to me, but I 
knew you were not dead. The men were 
gone. I carried you out into the street. A 


1 14 THE MASTER OF SILENCE 

policeman met me, and I told him what had 
happened. Then the ambulance came and we 
put you into it, and you were brought here. 
For a long time you lay like my father after 
he was dead. Your face was white — like 
snow. They had stabbed you in the side — 
they would have killed you if I had not broken 
the door.” 

“ Who struck me ? ” I asked. 

“I knew,” he said, his eyes flashing, “I 
knew the devil was in their heads — that is 
why I wished to go with you. They followed 
us that night.” 

“ Who ? ” I asked, eagerly. 

“ The Count de Montalle and another man.” 

My cousin’s answer amazed me. 

“ Have you made known your suspicions ? ” 
I asked. 

“ No. I have been waiting to talk with you 
first.” 

“ Do not speak of it yet to any one,” I said. 
“ Let us await developments.” 

I foresaw that Rayel would only get a 
reputation for insanity if pressed to the point 


THE MASTER OF SILENCE 


15 


of explaining his suspicions. It seemed quite 
likely, also, that any futile discussion of the 
subject would defeat justice. 

That day brought me a letter from Hester, 
whom I had been looking for with much im- 
patience since I had begun to feel more like 
myself. She would shortly have fulfilled all 
her professional engagements, and would then 
return at once to New York. “ I wonder,” 
she added, somewhat coquettishly, “ if you 
will be glad to see me.” On this point there 
was no doubt in my mind, and although my 
strength increased rapidly, the days passed 
with tedious slowness after that. 

I was sitting by the window one morning, 
looking out upon the moving throng in the 
opposite street, when the door of my room 
was suddenly opened. I supposed that one of 
the physicians had come to see me, and I 
waited for him to speak. 

“ Kendric ! ” 

It was Rayel who spoke my name, but 
somehow his voice did not seem quite natural, 
and I turned to greet him. 


II 6 THE MASTER OF SILENCE 

“This is our 4 Woman,’” said he, advancing 
toward me with Hester upon his arm. 

I rose feebly to my feet, confused by the 
sudden announcement, and took her extended 
hand. We looked into each other’s eyes for a 
moment without speaking. My own were 
rapidly filling with tears, and I could see her 
but dimly. 

“ What a fine outlook you have ! ” she said, 
in a tremulous voice, turning suddenly to the 
window and looking out upon the trees now 
half stripped of their foliage by the autumn 
winds. We both stood staring out of the win- 
dow in silence. For my part, I could not 
have spoken if I had known what to say. 
How she had changed ! The blushing little 
miss who had awakened the pangs of first love 
in my youthful heart was a beautiful young 
woman, now full grown and arrayed in costly 
finery. Rayel was the first to speak. 

“You must be glad to meet again — you 
have loved each other so long,” said he. 

Honest Rayel ! He knew our hearts — their 
longings, their histories, and also the vanity 


THE MASTER OF SILENCE 117 

and pride that dwelt in them. Why should 
there be any concealment between her and 
me ? 

“ It has been a long time — a very long time 
to me, Hester, for I have loved you ever since 
we first met.” 

She turned toward me, her eyes filled with 
tears, and I drew her to my heart and kissed 
her fondly. 

“ We have only known each other as chil- 
dren, Kendric,” said she. “Your heart may 
change and mine may change — let us wait and 
see.” 

Then she left us, promising to come again 
next day. 


CHAPTER X 


H ESTER and her maid looked in upon me 
every morning after that, until I was able 
to leave the hospital. During these visits we 
told each other the eventful story of our lives 
since the night of our parting at her father’s 
gate. Her first appearance on the stage had 
been, as I suspected, literally represented in 
the play. For years she had been permitted 
to accompany her father behind the scenes, 
and nights when the cast was short she had 
played small parts with great success. The 
glamour and excitement of stage life had 
proved distasteful to her. She assured me 
that it was her intention never to go back to 
it, and this strengthened my hope that she 
would some day consent to become my wife. 
Rayel had told her, during my illness, the 
strange story of his life. She knew nothing, 
however, of his wonderful powers, until I had 


THE MASTER OF SILENCE 1 19 

related to her some of the experiences which 
had revealed them to me. He had said noth- 
ing to her, I learned, about our discovery of 
the picture. 

“ Who painted the remarkable portrait of 
you which we saw at the theatre ? ” I asked 
her one day. 

“It was painted, I believe, by a French 
nobleman, who presented it to me here in New 
York. I suppose it looks a little as I did once, 
but it is certainly too flattering and much too 
maidenly for me now.” 

“The Frenchman is an impostor and worse,” 
I said. “The portrait was painted by Rayel 
and sold to a broker of the name of Paddington, 
from whom the Frenchman borrowed or bought 
it.” 

Her amazement could scarcely be overesti- 
mated when I told her what occurred at Mr. 
Paddington’s dinner-party. 

“The Frenchman,” she said, “has been pay- 
ing me unwelcome attentions ever since the 
first night of my appearance in New York. 
He became so odious to me at length that I 


120 


THE MASTER OF SILENCE 


refused to accept any of his gifts, and, in spite 
of the protests of my managers, returned every- 
thing he had sent me, including the portrait.” 

I did not tell her that it was this same 
Frenchman to whom I was indebted for my 
wounds. Of that I must wait for more pal- 
pable evidence, though not for my own con- 
vincing. It seemed strange to me then that 
just at the moment this thought was passing 
through my mind she asked me whom I sus- 
pected of having committed the assault. It 
occurred to me after she had gone that possibly 
she had some cause to suspect the man who 
had been the subject of our conversation. 

Rayel always came late in the day, when 
there was no chance of meeting other callers, 
and stayed with me until bedtime. As return- 
ing strength brought back to me that interest 
in life which prompts keen observation, I could 
see that a great change was coming over him. 
His face wore a melancholy look which indi- 
cated too clearly that his mind was suffering 
under some sad oppression. He was as gentle 
and considerate as ever, and as tireless in his 


THE MASTER OF SILENCE 


12 I 


efforts to increase my comfort, but he rarely 
spoke now, except in reply to my questions. 
He would sit by my side for hours, gazing out 
of the window with a vacant look in his eyes, 
until the light of day grew dim and the lamps 
were lighted. When supper was served to us 
I could never induce him to eat. 

“What is the trouble, Rayel?” I asked, one 
evening. “You are not yourself lately.” 

Neither of us had spoken for a long time. 
He turned suddenly, as if startled by my words, 
his lips quivered, and stammering almost inco- 
herently, he rose to his feet. Then he stood 
erect before me for a moment, looking sadly 
and thoughtfully into my eyes. 

“Nothing, Kendric,” he said presently, in a 
deep tone that trembled with emotion. “I 
think I have been working too hard and need 
exercise — that is all.” Then he grasped my 
hand warmly and bade me good night. 

I believe his answer to my question was the 
first lie that he had ever spoken. 


CHAPTER XI 


\T EXT day I was discharged from the hos- 
^ ^ pital, and Rayel and I were driven to 
our apartments. He had a number of surprises 
prepared for me. A large painting on his 
easel, awaiting some finishing touches, com- 
pelled my attention as soon as I entered the 
room. It represented a scene in our own lives, 
which had lasted but a second, but which could 
never be forgotten by either of us. He had 
seen me when I stood looking backward in 
that vivid flash of lightning — there could be 
no doubt of it now, for here was the scene 
transferred to canvas. The shaft of white 
light shaking and darting across the black sky 
like a gleaming sword; the man on the side- 
walk looking backward with a startled glance; 
the big drops of rain falling sidelong in the 
wind — these were all reproduced on the can- 
vas. His later pictures were characterized by 


122 


THE MASTER OF SILENCE 123 

a cynical tendency, which I observed with re- 
gret. It was evident that his sensitive mind 
had taken impressions from its brief contact 
with men, which were sadly affecting his 
thought. 

He showed me numerous letters, many of 
which were from women who desired to visit 
his studio and see his work. Indeed, my cousin 
had apparently grown suddenly famous in the 
American metropolis. He was the victim 
rather than the victor of fame, however, and 
regarded the matter with very serious concern. 
The press of New York had been full of gossip 
concerning his “eccentricities” since the event 
which had put my life in danger. One of the 
society journals had printed a highly colored 
version of that little episode at the house of the 
Paddingtons, and had concluded its article by 
saying that the fair Miss Paddington had fal- 
len madly in love with her father’s strange 
guest.- 

That night, as we were sitting by the grate 
fire in our own rooms, Rayel, encouraged by 
our seclusion, began to emerge from the silence 


124 


THE MASTER OF SILENCE 


to which he had seemingly gone back for refuge 
in time of trouble. 

“ We shall soon be ready to start for Eng- 
land,” I said. 

“ I do not wish to go to England, Kendric,” 
said he. “ For a long time I have thought 
over it. Let me go back to the old house and 
live by my father’s grave, until the good Lord 
takes me to a better home. I would miss you, 
dear Kendric, and every day I would look for 
you to come, but I shall be happier there.” 

His words touched me deeply, and I was 
not prepared to answer him with perfect calm- 
ness, although I had lately suspected that his 
despondency would lead to this resolve. 

“Why must we separate now, after we have 
become so dear to each other ? ” I asked. 
“ Something has happened to change your pur- 
pose since I have been ill — tell me what it is.” 

“To speak frankly, Kendric, I must say 
that the world has sadly disappointed me. It 
is full of vanity and deceit and selfishness. Ev- 
ery day brings to me some hideous revelation 
which the mercy of heaven has hidden from 


THE MASTER OF SILENCE 125 

others. I have seen the righteous forsaken of 
men, and the wicked receiving homage; I have 
seen the unjust triumphing over the just; I have 
seen some reveling in abundance while others 
were begging for bread. Everywhere I have 
found want and misery staring me in the face. 

“ Remembering what Christ said, I sold all 
I had and gave to the poor, and now there is 
nothing more I can do. My best pictures, my 
money and all my extra clothing have gone to 
feed the hungry and cover the naked. And 
even now, when I have nothing left to give, I 
find as much misery as before. Often, since I 
have been alone, I have had nothing to eat and 
no fire to keep me warm. Then I feared to tell 
you what I had done, and I bore it in silence, 
hoping that I might earn more money by paint- 
ing. But I could not work. When Hester 
came back I told her all my troubles, and she 
gave me money, not only for my own use but 
for the use of others who needed it more than 
I. She and I have wandered about the city by 
day and by night, ministering to the sick and 
the friendless.” 


126 


THE MASTER OF SILENCE 


He ceased speaking, his head bent forward 
upon his hands. It was indeed a serious sit- 
uation into which a too generous heart had be- 
trayed him. Nearly all his fortune had de- 
scended to him in cash on deposit, and payable 
either to my order or to his. He had there- 
fore saved nothing for himself that had been 
available for the satisfaction of his good im- 
pulses. Instead of displeasing me, however, 
as he feared, his action only increased my love 
for him, if that were possible. 

“Do not let these things trouble you, Ray- 
el,” I said. “We shall find no difficulty, I 
think, in earning money enough for our needs. 
I cannot see you shut yourself away from the 
world : you have yet an important work to do 
among men. You are now morbidly sensitive 
to the misery that surrounds us, but you will 
feel it less keenly as it grows more familiar.” 

“You do not understand me, Kendric,” said 
he, starting from his chair, and pacing restless- 
ly up and down the room. “I cannot deceive 
you any longer. In begging you to leave me, 
it is your own happiness I am thinking of. 


THE MASTER OF SILENCE 


127 


Please go as soon as possible,” he pleaded, lay- 
ing his hand gently upon my shoulder. “Take 
her with you, and let me stay.” 

My heart seemed suddenly to have stopped 
beating. 

“ My God, Rayel ! ” I exclaimed. “ Are we 
both in love with the same woman ? ” 

“ No, Kendric, no,” he said quickly, taking 
my hand. “ I do not mean that. I would not 
permit myself to love her, knowing that you 
love her also.” 

“ What, then, do you mean ? ” I asked. 

“ That there is danger,” he answered husk- 
ily, sinking into a chair. “ I am a fool not to 
have thought of it long ago ! ” 

His words seemed to sting me, and for a mo- 
ment I could not speak. 

“ You know what is in her heart, Rayel,” I 
said presently. “ Tell me, is it false, or is she, 
as I have thought, a pure and noble woman ? ’ 
“ She is pure and worthy of your love,” he 
answered. “ Her life has been much exposed 
to temptation, but her character has been great- 
er than any temptation. When she began to 


28 


THE MASTER OF SILENCE 


go with me among the poor I did not know 
what love was. I had never felt the power of 
it, nor did I think of the danger to all of us. 
When at last it came upon me, and I saw what 
it meant, I resolved not to see Hester again un- 
til God had given me strength to subdue that 
passion. For days my heart was near break- 
ing. When you asked me to tell you what 
made me sad, I had not the courage to do it. 
Then I told you a lie. I did the very thing 
which I have so much condemned in others. 
This trouble has taught me to comprehend and 
to pity the frailty of men. I look forward with 
fear and dread for my own sake. I shall be 
safe in my father’s house. I must go back, but, 
before I go, forgive me. Tell me that you do 
not despise me.” 

As he ceased speaking he laid his hand upon 
my shoulder and peered into my face with a 
frightened and appealing look. 

“Despise you!” I repeated. “No. You 
are dearer to me now than ever. What you 
have told me will bring us closer to each other, 
if we consider it wisely. As yet there is no 


THE MASTER OF SILENCE 


129 


pledge between Hester and myself, save the as- 
surance given by unuttered thoughts. Her 
heart is free. I have no right to claim it. If 
she loves you I shall wish you both much joy.” 

“ That will not be necessary, Kendric. I 
had rather die than know that I had come be- 
tween you. I cannot even risk the danger of 
it. I must leave you to-morrow.” 

“ Under no circumstances will I consent to 
that. My promise to your father and my duty 
to you forbid it. To go back now would be 
cowardly and unworthy of you. With my help 
and guidance you can do great things. We 
must face the world with stout hearts. As to 
this trouble, let us concern ourselves about it as 
little as possible. I believe that whatever may 
be best for all will happen if we but wait with 
patience.” 

Rayel made no answer, and for some mo- 
ments we both sat looking at the glowing em- 
bers in silence. 

“ I shall obey your wish,” he said presently; 
“ I cannot do otherwise. I am like a child, 
and must look to you for instruction in all 


130 THE MASTER OF SILENCE 

things. Perhaps there will come a time when 
I can repay you.” 

“ It will be a pleasure for me to help you as 
I would a brother, and you will owe me no 
gratitude for it,” I said. 

We sat discussing our plans for the future 
until near midnight. When we went to bed at 
last, Rayel looked happier than I had seen him 
before since my recovery at the hospital. 

When I awoke it was near midday. I went 
to call Rayel and found that he was gone. 


CHAPTER XII 



FTER waiting for him nearly an hour I 


1 went to a neighboring restaurant for 
breakfast. On returning I found that he had 
not yet come back. Alarmed at his continued 
absence I went at once to Hester’s apartments, 
scarcely expecting, however, to find him there, 
but confident that she would be able to tell me 
'where he was likely to go. 

“ No doubt he has gone on some good er- 
rand,” she said. “ Has he not told you of his 
charitable enterprises ? ” 

“ He told me last night how they had re- 
duced his fortune.” 

“Poor fellow!” she continued. “In his 
zeal for others he quite forgot his own needs. 
I would have told you about it, but that he 
implored me to spare you any knowledge of 
his condition. I think we shall be able to find 
him. Let us go and try.” 


132 


THE MASTER OF SILENCE 


Hester and I set out at once, walking rapid- 
ly against a biting east wind toward the river. 
On reaching Second Avenue we took a car and 
rode down among the big tenements towering 
into the sky on all sides in the lower part of 
the city. Alighting in the midst of these hu- 
man hives, we made our way through a wretch- 
ed crowd, shivering in the livery of destitution, 
down a long and narrow alley. Entering one 
of the doorways we climbed a steep flight of 
stairs, above which was a squalid throng press- 
ing about an open door on the landing. The 
women held children in their arms, and many 
of them were crying bitterly. The men stood 
in silence peering curiously over the heads of 
the further throng into the crowded chamber. 
Some of them greeted Hester with great re- 
spect, and moved aside that we might have 
room to enter. As we neared the door I could 
hear a babel of strange tongues and the voices 
of women calling down the blessings of Heaven 
upon some one in their midst. It was Rayel. 
He stood in a corner of the room holding two 
little children in his arms, and the crowd was 


THE MASTER OF SILENCE 1 33 

pressing forward as if eager to speak with him. 
He was talking in a low voice to those nearest 
him, but I was unable to catch his words. 
There were men and women of many nation- 
alities in the throng. I saw Italians, Celts, 
Poles, Germans and even men whose swarthy 
faces and peculiar garb betokened Syrian ori- 
gin. When we pressed nearer to Rayel I saw 
some, as they came within reach, extend their 
hands and touch him fondly, uttering exclama- 
tions as they did so, often in a tongue that was 
strange to me. These simple-minded people 
seemed to regard him as a supernatural being 
whom it was good to talk with, and whose touch 
it was a blessing to feel. A look of love and 
gentleness and sympathy irradiated his face 
and invited their confidence. These were evi- 
dently the poor whom he had befriended, and he 
was now taking leave of them, probably forever. 
It was a scene the like of which few can ever 
hope to witness. After all, I thought, what 
manner of riches can be compared to the sat- 
isfaction which Rayel feels at this moment ? I 
was quite ready then to applaud his unselfish 


134 THE MASTER OF SILENCE 

generosity, for in that gloomy and unclean 
place I first saw the full radiance of God’s truth 
that it is infinitely more blessed to give than 
to receive. We stood for a long time looking 
upon this memorable meeting of Cadmus and 
Caliban. When at length he caught sight of 
us, Rayel came where we stood, and said he 
was ready to go home. Perceiving that we 
were about to go, the crowd hurried from the 
building into the narrow alley leading out upon 
the street. Some shouted endearing farewells 
as we passed them, and many of their hardened 
faces were wet with tears. The sun was just 
going down and the shadows were deepening 
between the high walls looming above us as 
we started homeward. Hester insisted that 
we must dine with her and decide upon the 
day of our departure. Rayel and I went di- 
rectly home for a bath and a change of cloth- 
ing, after which we proceeded at once to 
Hester’s apartments. Evidently somewhat 
fatigued by the day’s experience, Rayel had 
little to say while we were eating dinner. It 
was arranged that we would start for England 


THE MASTER OF SILENCE 1 35 

by the first steamer on which we could secure 
a comfortable passage. We had no sooner 
finished our coffee than a servant announced 
Mr. Benjamin Murmurtot, who wished to see 
Miss Bronson. 

“A reporter!” exclaimed Hester. “There’s 
no dodging them in America. Shall I ask him 
in for a moment?” 

We said yes, of course, and Mr. Murmurtot 
presently fluttered into the room. He was a 
natty little man, with a large nose, a bald 
head and a decidedly English accent. 

“Delighted to see you, Miss Bronson,” said 
he, “delighted, I’m sure. Thought I’d call 
and pay my respects before you leave the city.” 

He greeted us all with like effusiveness and 
sat down facing Hester. 

“ It’s very kind of you,” said she; “ but pray 
how did you know I was to leave the city ? ” 

“ Why, I’m sure, Miss Bronson, everybody 
knows you are going home to be married ? ” 

“ It is true that I am going home soon,” said 
she, “ but I must decline to discuss my object 
in doing so.” 


136 THE MASTER OF SILENCE 

“ Pray pardon me; I’m a journalist, you 
know,” said Mr. Murmurtot, “ and I earn my 
living by impertinence. Have I not seen you 
before, sir ?” he continued, facing Rayel. “ I 
think you were at the theatre one evening some 
time ago — sat in the lower box at the right of 
the stage — I remember it well, sir.” 

“ I remember the occasion,” said my cousin, 
with his accustomed gravity. 

“ I read about that occurrence at Mr. Pad- 
dington’s dinner-party, sir,” continued Mr. Mur- 
murtot. “ It was decidedly clever in you, sir — 
deucedly clever ! Everybody is talking about 
it, now that the Count has been arrested.” 

“Arrested!” I exclaimed; “has he been 
arrested ? ” 

“Yes, this morning, for the robbery, you 
know. They say that the police have secured 
evidence that will convict him sure, but it 
seems they are not yet ready to make it pub- 
lic; reporters can’t get the Inspector to say a 
word about it, you know — not a word.” 

There were exclamations of surprise and 
gratification from all present, save Rayel, who 


THE MASTER OF SILENCE 1 37 

remained silent, while a faint smile stole over 
his face. 

“ I knew they would find him out,” said he. 

“ I hear that you are a mind-reader, sir, ” said 
Mr. Murmurtot, again addressing my cousin. 

“ And you are a detective, I believe, and not 
a reporter,” said Rayel. “ It is good that we 
understand each other.” 

Mr. Murmurtot started with surprise at the 
remark. 

“ I do not know how fully you may be ac- 
quainted with my secret,” said he, “but permit 
me to assure you that I am here on a friendly 
mission.” 

“ I have no doubt of that,” said my cousin. 

“ Let me proceed directly to the object of 
my visit, then, which is to learn how soon you 
expect to return to England.” 

“By Saturday, if possible,” I replied. 

“ That is good,” said he, turning toward me. 
“ The sooner the better. In the meantime it 
will be my duty to keep a sharp eye upon you; 
I have been near you all day. You need not 
feel any alarm — only do not be surprised if 


138 THE MASTER OF SILENCE 

you meet me often. I am responsible for your 
safety, that is all.” 

“ For whom are you acting ? ” I asked. 

“ My dear sir,” said he, rising to go, “ men 
in my line of business must not talk too much. 
Good night.” 

After he had gone we asked Rayel to tell us 
more about this mysterious visitor, but he was 
unable to do so. 

When we started away Hester put on her 
wraps and walked with us to the cab. As we 
alighted at our own door I saw a man standing 
by the street lamp on the corner, some distance 
away, whom I recognized as Mr. Murmurtot. I 
found a letter from Mr. Earl awaiting me at 
home, in which he urged us to hasten back to 
England as soon as possible after my recovery. 
“ You and Rayel,” he said, “ will, I trust, make 
your home at my house.” 

Next day we began our preparations for the 
voyage. 


CHAPTER XIII 

T T was on a bleak and windy night in De- 
cember that we were driven through a 
pelting rain to one of the docks on the North 
River, which our steamer was to leave at high 
tide in the early morning. When we alighted 
Mr. Murmurtot stood shivering in a greatcoat 
and muffler close by the passengers’ entrance. 

“ This is a good place for a warm greeting,” 
said he, taking Hester’s hand. “ I’ve stood 
here so long that my teeth are chattering from 
the cold.” 

“ Won’t you come aboard with us ?” I asked. 

“ Not yet,” he replied ; “ but I expect to sail 
with you in the morning.” 

“ ’Sa rough night, sir,” said the porter who 
carried our luggage, “ but we’ll find it a bit 
rougher outside, I’m feered, afore anither night.” 

Fatigued by a long day of arduous work, we 


139 


140 


THE MASTER OF SILENCE 


went at once to our staterooms. I was soon 
asleep after getting into my berth, but was 
awakened by the tramp of feet on the upper 
decks and the shouting of the crew long before 
the ship left her moorings. They reminded 
me of the first night I had ever spent on an 
ocean steamer — the night I left Liverpool on 
that journey fraught with danger I had not then 
dreamed of. I had grown old very fast under 
the influences that had come into my life since 
then. Indeed, I was now a man, whereas I had 
been only a boy when I left England. But 
Rayel was with me now, and that repaid me 
for all I had suffered. What would he have 
done in that lonely mansion after his father’s 
death ? For hours my mind was occupied with 
these reflections, and at length I determined 
to dress myself and go on deck. Rayel awoke 
while I was dressing and decided to go with 
me. 

We found the decks thronged with people, 
and the ship’s crew were bustling about, get- 
ting ready to sail. We stood near the gang- 
way, facing the dock. A man was pacing back 


THE MASTER OF SILENCE 141 

and forth in the opening whose figure seemed 
familiar to me. Presently he came aboard, 
and as he passed near us I saw it was the om- 
nipresent Mr. Murmurtot. 

“ I wonder if he is afraid somebody will steal 
the ship ? ” I remarked. 

“No, he is looking for some person,” said 
Rayel, divining my thoughts. 

“All ashore ! Stand away, there ! ” shouted 
one of the ship’s officers. 

The passengers fell back, the gangway was 
pulled aboard, the great hawsers were loosened, 
and the ship moved slowly away from the 
dock. We stood for a long time watching the 
river craft and the receding lights of the city. 
The ship was well beyond the Atlantic High- 
lands when we went to our stateroom and to 
bed again. We slept until late in the morning, 
and arose barely in time for a late breakfast 
with Hester. Rayel seemed cheerful enough 
and took more than ordinary interest in his 
surroundings. When we had risen from the 
table he led me aside and directed my atten- 
tion to a short, stout man with a bristly growth 


142 


THE MASTER OF SILENCE 


of close-cropped black hair, a low forehead 
and shaggy eyebrows, who was leaning lazily 
against the railing of the stairway. 

“Let us avoid him,” he whispered. “Ido 
not like his looks.” 

What can this mean ? I asked myself, as we 
all proceeded to the deck. Perhaps he was 
the man the detective was looking for. 

It was a beautiful sunlit afternoon, and the 
vessel rode steadily in a sea that was growing 
quiet under the dying impulse that the winds 
had left behind them. We drew our chairs 
together on the deck near the stern of the ves- 
sel, and had settled down for a quiet chat 
among ourselves when we were unexpectedly 
joined by Mr. Murmurtot. 

“Delighted, I’m sure!” he exclaimed, with 
the same inimitable drawl I had noted on the 
occasion of our first meeting. I soon observed 
that the artful little gentleman was master of 
an elaborate system of exclamations by which 
he encouraged one to talk freely without say- 
ing anything himself. 

In response to my assertion that we had 


THE MASTER OF SILENCE 


H3 


been exceedingly busy getting ready for the 
trip he said simply : “ Indeed ! ” 

It was a very unusual burst of confidence in 
which he was moved to express his views with 
any greater freedom. When the remark which 
preceded it was evidently expected to meet 
with Mr. Murmurtot’s concurrence, then he 
would say, “Yes, indeed ! ” 

If the remark were one to which this response 
would be inappropriate he often went to the 
extent of observing, “I dare say!” seemingly 
ventured after careful consideration of the 
chances for and against the proposition which 
provoked it. 

“My dear sir, I do not agree with you,” he 
would always say when he felt compelled to 
differ with me. If the difference in our views 
chanced to be extremely radical, he would 
throw particular emphasis upon the word 
“ dear,” as a sort of recompense for his oppo- 
sition. These forms of speech, with occasional 
and slight variations, were always employed 
by Mr. Murmurtot as a medium of thought and 
sentiment. 


Hi 


THE MASTER OF SILENCE 


In the midst of our conversation I noticed 
the man whom Rayel had pointed out to me 
when we arose from the breakfast-table. He was 
standing against the rail, not twenty feet from 
where we sat, and as I looked at him he turned 
away and walked leisurely down the deck. In 
a moment Rayel was on his feet, and, excusing 
himself, he proceeded in the same direction. 
An hour later, as he had not returned, I left 
Hester with Mr. Murmurtot and went forward 
in quest of him. He was in the reading-room, 
apparently interested in a newspaper. As he 
did not observe me, I sat down behind his 
chair without disturbing him. To my surprise 
I saw that he was not reading the paper, but 
that his eyes were furtively watching the mys- 
terious stranger he had followed, who sat on 
the other side of the room listlessly puffing at 
a cigarette. I was seated scarcely a moment 
when Rayel seemed to be aware of my pres- 
ence. Looking from face to face until he 
had discovered me he arose and came to my 
side. 

“ I was trying to read a newspaper,” said he, 


THE MASTER OF SILENCE 145 

leading the way to the door, “ but reading is 
still hard work for me.” 

“ I saw that you did not seem to be looking 
at the paper,” said I, as we proceeded to the 
deck. He made no reply, but stopped and 
looked out across the waste of waters at the 
horizon. 

“ Do you know that man ? ” I asked. 

For a moment I stood waiting for his an- 
swer. Apparently he had not heard my ques- 
tion, and I repeated it in a somewhat louder 
tone. 

He turned suddenly with an impatient ex- 
clamation. There was a flash of anger in his 
eyes as he faced me. I had never seen him in 
such a mood before. 

“ Forgive me,” said he. “ I am only angry 
with myself. Come, Hester will be looking 
for us.” 

I did not venture again to refer to our bristly 
fellow-passenger in Rayel’s presence. Never 
inclined to talk much, even with me, he was 
becoming more silent than ever as the voyage 
continued. Day by day his interest in that 


146 THE MASTER OF SILENCE 

strange man seemed to increase. He spent as 
little time as possible in my company. When 
not with me he was hounding him about the 
ship, keeping him in sight from some favorable 
point of observation. What was the meaning 
of it ? The question forced itself upon my 
mind persistently by day and night, and begat 
in me a gloomy reticence which Hester was 
quick to observe. Every day I expected some 
revelation from Rayel, but he said nothing 
about the man in whom he had taken such 
extraordinary interest. 

We had been over a week at sea, and I was 
sitting alone one afternoon, when Mr. Murmur- 
tot came along and asked if he might introduce 
an acquaintance of his whom I ought to know. 
Then he went to find the gentleman, saying 
that he would return in a few moments. He 
had no sooner left me than my mind reverted 
to the man who had been the bugbear of my 
thoughts since we left New York. Presently 
Mr. Murmurtot touched my arm. Looking up 
suddenly, I saw standing before me the very 
man of whom I had been thinking. 


THE MASTER OF SILENCE 


147 


“ Mr. Lane, let me introduce you to Mr. 
Fenlon,” said the detective. I shook the hand 
that was extended to me mechanically, and 
made some incoherent response — I do not re- 
member what. I had been taken by surprise. 
My voice was unnatural and my strength 
seemed to have left me suddenly. 

“ Are you not well, sir ? ” he asked. 

“ No, sir, he is not well yet.” 

It was the voice of Rayel that answered for 
me. He was standing by my side, his lips 
tightly drawn, and his eyes fixed upon the man 
Fenlon. There was a terrible look on his face 
as he stood there towering above us. The man 
turned pale and moved quickly backward two 
or three steps, staring at my cousin as if in fear 
of receiving a death-blow. For an instant, only, 
he stood like some fierce animal at bay, then 
turned and walked hurriedly down the deck. 
The situation was made all the more impress- 
ive by the interval of silence that followed 
Rayel’s words. 

“ Forgive me,” said Mr. Murmurtot, taking 
my hand, “ if this meeting was unpleasant. It 


148 THE MASTER OF SILENCE 

was necessary.” Then he bowed politely and 
walked away. The sun was just going down 
as Rayel and I entered the cabin, where Hes- 
ter was waiting for us. 

“ The captain thinks we will reach South- 
ampton before five in the morning,” said she. 

I was glad to learn that our voyage was so 
near its end. 


CHAPTER XIV 

A FTER dinner Rayel and I went at once 
^ ^ to our stateroom. 

“ I am out of patience with myself,” said he, 
as soon as we were seated. “My mind is failing 
me just when I need it most. I have grown 
dull and stupid. For more than a week I have 
been trying to find out that man’s secret. I 
knew that he had a secret, and that it concerned 
us. Not until to-night was I certain that I had 
found it out. Once I could see the truth clear- 
ly. No matter how deeply it was buried under 
lies — I could see it. But now there is some- 
thing like a mist before my eyes, and I am sure 
of nothing. Perhaps it is because I am now a 
liar myself, as bad as any of them. God have 
mercy on me ! ” said he, rising, and speaking 
with much animation. “I know now what is 
blinding my soul. When a man lies he loses 


149 


i5o 


THE MASTER OF SILENCE 


some degree of his power to distinguish be- 
tween truth and falsehood.” 

He stood looking into my face impatiently, 
as if waiting to hear what I would say to his 
remark. 

“ That would be the natural result, I have 
no doubt,” said I; “but are you not trying to 
convict yourself of too much wickedness and 
stupidity ? ” 

I had never considered the misfortune of 
knowing too much — of being able to detect ev- 
ery difference between word and thought, be- 
tween appearance and reality. That was the 
power which Rayel possessed, and it increased 
his moral responsibility by as much as it tran- 
scended the power common to others. Here, 
indeed, was a man ripe for the fate of a martyr. 

“ Won’t you tell me Fenlon’s secret, if you 
have found it out ? ” I asked. “ I’ve been think- 
ing about it night and day since we first saw 
him.” 

“ Be wise ! Don’t try to learn too fast, Ken- 
dric,” said he. “ You shall know it soon, I am 
sure of that — indeed, I promise that you shall.” 


THE MASTER OF SILENCE 


51 


“ I am quite willing to wait on the future for 
everything if you think it is best,” I said. 

We sat for a long time, making plans for our 
future life in England. It was near midnight 
when we retired to our berths, but we were up 
early in the morning, eager to catch the first 
sight of land. On reaching the deck we were 
overjoyed to see the distant spires of South- 
ampton glowing in the morning sun. 


CHAPTER XV 


1\ /[R. and Mrs. Earl met us at the station of 
**“*-■- the Southwestern Railway in London, 
and we were driven at once to their home. 
Hester came to breakfast with us, but Mrs. 
Earl would not let her go to Liverpool that 
day, ship-worn and fatigued as we all felt after 
the voyage. 

“ You resemble your father, sir, when he was 
of your age,” said Mr. Earl, addressing my 
cousin, as we were eating. “ But you are 
larger, much larger, than he was.” 

“You were my father’s friend when he was a 
young man, I believe ? ” said Rayel. 

“ Yes, he and his brother were my best 
friends in those days. I tried to induce him to 
study law, but he was more inclined to medi- 
cine.” 

Rayel had found a man quite after his liking 
and the two were on the best of terms at once. 


152 


THE MASTER OF SILENCE 


153 


Indeed, he seemed to talk with my benefactor 
as freely as he ever talked with me. I found 
Mrs. Earl very much as I had imagined my 
mother to have been — a full-faced, ruddy- 
cheeked woman, with a sweet voice and gentle 
manners. She greeted me as if I were her own 
son returned from a long journey, and when we 
sat down to talk after breakfast, I felt the joy 
and peace of one who has found a home after 
much wandering. 

I spent the afternoon with Mr. Earl in his 
library, and he listened with deep interest to 
the complete story of my life since the night 
we parted in Liverpool. 

He had many questions to ask me touching 
the attempt upon my life, and my replies were 
jotted down in his memorandum-book. After 
I had told him all that I was able to tell he sat 
for some moments thoughtfully turning the 
pages of the book, stopping now and then to 
read some of the memoranda. 

“It looks pretty bad for them, doesn’t it?” 
said he calmly, looking up at me over his spec- 
tacles. “ But we’ll bring this matter to a cli- 


154 THE master of silence 

max very soon,” he continued. “ We haven’t 
seen the last act of the play yet. You need 
not have any further fear for your safety — I 
will look after that. You may feel quite free 
to go and come as you please in this part of 
the city. Above all things we must avoid let- 
ting them know that we suspect anything; it 
might defeat me in getting hold of the last bit 
of evidence that is necessary to complete our 
case.” 

I nodded, and waited for him to proceed. 

“ Let us go carefully until we’re sure of our 
ground,” he continued. “Your stepmother 
knows you are in London, of course. You 
must go and see her. Take your cousin with 
you, and — well, you will know how to treat 
them. After all, you must bear in mind that in 
the eye of the law every man is innocent until 
he is proven guilty. Adopt that view of the 
case yourself. You needn’t fear anything from 
Cobb or his wife. Only be reasonably pru- 
dent.” 

“ I’ve no fear that they will try to do us 
any harm,” said I; “ and I would greatly enjoy 


THE MASTER OF SILENCE 1 55 

visiting the old house. Perhaps we could go 
to-morrow.” 

“The day after. You’d better go down to 
Liverpool to-morrow with the young lady, and 
return by the night train.” 

That day saw the beginning of a deep and 
lasting friendship between Hester and Mrs. 
Earl. When we left next morning to go to 
Hester’s home in Liverpool, she promised to 
return soon for a long visit. By ten o’clock we 
were well out of smoky London, on the way 
that I had already traversed once before, with 
a cheerful heart most creditable to me under 
the circumstances. Mrs. Chaffin was waiting 
for us at the gate when we alighted in front of 
the old wood-colored cottage — that haven of 
weary legs in days gone by. Phil (who had 
lengthened noticeably in the service of Valen- 
tine, King & Co.) was there, too, and all the 
rest of the Chaffin household in Sunday clothes. 
Mrs. Chaffin was quite beside herself with joy. 

“ Dear-a me ! ” said the good lady, after the 
salutations were over. “ Dear-a sakes ! How 
you’ve growed ! I didn’t think you’d ever live 


15 6 THE MASTER OF SILENCE 

to get s’ big. I thought as ’ow som’ ’arm ’d 
come to ye when ye went away, an’ Hester — ” 

“Mamma!” exclaimed Hester, with a re- 
proving glance. “ Don’t tell him.” 

“ I’m that fidgety I don’t know what I’m 
sayin’. The Lord bless us, but ye must be hun- 
gry ! ” said the good woman, as she spread the 
table for dinner. She had guessed rightly, and 
Hester bustled about, helping her mother get 
the dishes on the table, with a critical eye to all 
the arrangements. Rayel was much amused 
by the children, the youngest of whom had 
climbed upon his knee and was taking liberties 
with his cravat. He was wholly unaccustomed 
to the pranks of children, and we frequently 
rallied to his defence. He seemed to enjoy 
them, however, and was soon involved in a spree 
at which both Hester and I laughed heartily. 

“ This herring ain’t extra good, sir, but I 
’ope it won’t go ag’in’ ye,” said Mrs. Chaffin to 
Rayel, as we sat down to the table. 

He seemed in doubt for a moment as to what 
it would be proper to say in reply to this well- 
intended remark. 


THE MASTER OF SILENCE 1 57 

“ I have never eaten a herring, madam,” said 
he, gravely, “but I have no doubt it will be 
good.” 

“ I ’ope so, sir — indeed, I ’ope so; but I dare 
presume to say that it will taste bad enough to 
the likes of you.” 

Mrs. Chaffin (good soul) had evidently con- 
cluded that my cousin was a man entitled to 
extra politeness. Hester had adroitly side- 
tracked the herring question and started an- 
other train of speculation, when her mother’s 
misgivings were again excited respecting the 
tea, which Rayel had just tasted. 

“ Murky, sir ? ” she asked, with a glance of 
alarm. “ I ’ope it don’t taste murky.” 

Mrs. Chaffin’s solicitude respecting the tea 
and the herring reminded me of the first time 
I had stretched my tired legs under that hos- 
pitable board at Phil’s invitation; of those big, 
wondering eyes that stared at me across the 
table; of the songs and stories which beguiled 
the evening hours. 

The candles were lit before dinner was over, 
and when we rose from the table it was to 


158 THE MASTER OF SILENCE 

gather about the warm fire and exchange 
memories, while Rayel listened with deep in- 
terest. Phil had been promoted from a pair of 
legs to a pair of hands, and was now third 
bookkeeper for the firm. Our carriage came 
for us at nine o’clock. Hester had decided to 
stay a day or two with her mother, but it was 
necessary for Rayel and me to return to Lon- 
don that night, as we were to make an impor- 
tant call the next day. 


CHAPTER XVI 



ATE in the afternoon of the day follow- 


J — ' ing our visit to Liverpool we ascended 
the big stone steps of my old home and pulled 
the bell. After all, I found that my nerves 
were not quite steady while we were waiting 
for the door to open. We had come intending 
to spend the night there, and my benefactor 
had given me certain precautions not calculated 
to make me feel entirely at home. Was there 
some deeper plan underlying his suggestion as 
to this visit than he had chosen to explain ? I 
had not long to consider that point, however, 
for suddenly the door opened and a servant in 
imposing livery confronted us. I handed him 
my card and we were shown into the reception 
room at once. Presently he conducted us to 
my stepmother, who greeted me with a great 
show of cordiality and some tears. She had 
grown old fast since I left home, but she had 


159 


1 60 


THE MASTER OF SILENCE 


artfully disguised the evidences of age upon 
her face and neck. Why had I stayed away so 
long ? What had she done to deserve such 
shameful neglect ? These and other questions 
taxed my wits for an answer that would neither 
outrage my own conscience nor offend her. 
Mr. Cobb, who had just returned from his office, 
suddenly entered the room. His face assumed 
an ashen pallor, and he stared at me quite dum- 
founded for a moment, when I arose and stood 
before him. 

“ It is Kendric. Don’t you recognize him ? ” 
said my stepmother. 

“So it is!” he exclaimed. “ But he’s grown 
quite out of my recollection.” The man had 
recovered his self-possession in a moment, and 
treated me, it must be said to his credit, with 
marked coolness. I was likely to get on with 
him very well, I thought, but the fawning atti- 
tude of his wife quite unhorsed me. If I am to 
see the devil I’d rather he’d frown than smile. 
Cobb had very little to say to us, and left the 
room at the first opportunity. In doing so he 
had shown scant consideration for his wife, 


THE MASTER OF SILENCE l6l 

however, as it left a burden upon her shoulders 
that must have taxed her strength. But she 
was not unequal to it. Her smile broadened 
after he had gone, and there was a tone of 
deeper sincerity in her expressions of regard. 
We had been to dinner, and if she would kindly 
send a little cold lunch to our room at bedtime 
that would be quite sufficient. During her ab- 
sence for dinner the reaction came. When my 
stepmother returned she seemed to have sud- 
denly grown older, and she looked at us 
through haggard and sunken eyes. Surely 
this was a terrible punishment she was under- 
going, and I pitied her. Mr. Cobb had an im- 
portant engagement to keep, she said, and 
hoped we would excuse him. Slowly the even- 
ing wore away and at ten o’clock we were 
shown to our room, greatly fatigued by this 
trying experience. It was a room fronting the 
street on the third floor, which I had occupied 
before I left home. The walls had been 
painted white since then, with a frieze of gold 
along the ceiling. My father used to sleep in 
the room directly under it. Rayel had been 


1 62 THE MASTER OF SILENCE 

silen.t and absent-minded all the evening, rarely 
speaking except in reply to some question. 

“I feel sad for some cause I do not under- 
stand/’ said he, preparing to retire. “ I shall 
be glad when to-morrow comes.” 

“ We will go back in the morning,” I said. 
“You don’t feel at home here, do you ? ” 

He did not seem to hear me, but tried the 
door, which I had already bolted, and then got 
into bed, yawning and shivering, for the room 
was cold. I turned down the light, and, open- 
ing the shutters, looked out upon the street, 
now deserted save by a solitary man who had 
just passed the house and whose slow foot- 
steps were gradually growing less distinct. I 
crouched there, listening for some moments to 
that fading sound, when it began to grow 
louder again. The man had turned about and 
was coming back. As he passed under the 
lamp on the opposite corner I thought I recog- 
nized the slim figure of Mr. Murmurtot. Sud- 
denly I was startled by a noise in the room 
adjoining ours, and sprang to my feet in a tre- 
mor. Plague take my imagination ! It was 


THE MASTER OF SILENCE 163 

somebody going to bed. I sat down again 
and for a long time looked out at the man 
walking back and forth in front of the house. 
I was rapidly getting into a condition of mind 
unfavorable to rest and, closing the shutters, I 
went to bed at once. For hours I lay tossing 
restlessly from one side to the other, and finally 
fell into a deep sleep. I must have slept a long 
time when I suddenly awoke, laboring with 
nightmare. I had heard no sound, I had felt 
no touch, but all at once my eyes were open 
and I knew that I was awake. The lamp was 
burning dimly on the table beside my bed. 
How my heart was beating ! And my arm — 
how it trembled when I tried to raise up on my 
elbow and look about the room ! 

“ Who’s there ? ” I whispered. Was it Rayel 
standing near the bed, his body swaying back- 
ward and forward, or was I yet asleep ? 
Everything looked dim and weird. I seemed 
to be in some silent ghostland between sleep- 
ing and waking. I rubbed my eyes and peered 
about the half-darkened room. It was Rayel, 
and, as I gazed at him, his eyes seemed to 


164 the master of silence 

shine like balls of fire. I called to him, but he 
made no answer. What had happened since I 
went to sleep ? Alarmed, I threw the covers 
aside and leaped out of bed. As I did so he 
stepped up close to the opposite wall, and, as 
his hand moved, I could hear the grating of a 
crayon on its surface. In tremulous haste I 
turned up the wick of the lamp and tiptoed to- 
ward him, holding it in my hand. He was step- 
ping backward and excitedly pointing at the 
wall. He had been drawing a picture on its white 
surface — the form of a woman holding some- 
thing in her hand. I stepped nearer, still carry- 
ing the lamp. A sharp interjection broke from 
my lips. The woman pictured there was my 
stepmother, and it was a knife that she held ! 
A man was lying at her feet. Again Rayel 
stepped forward, and again I heard the crayon 
grating on the wall. Then he stood aside. 
Great God ! There were drops of blood drip- 
ping from the knife now. Rayel sank down up- 
on the floor and covered his eyes with his hands. 
I stood there, dumb with fear and horror, look- 
ing first upon him and then upon the picture. 


THE MASTER OF SILENCE 165 

The silence of the night was unbroken save 
by those slow footsteps in the street to which I 
had listened before retiring. But suddenly I 
heard a low wailing cry in the room adjoining 
ours. It so startled me that I came near drop- 
ping the lamp. Strange and weird it sounded, 
gradually growing shriller and more terrible to 
hear ! It was the voice of my stepmother. 
Was she dreaming ? And had Rayel seen the 
vision that affrighted her ? Was that dagger 
pricking her brain ? In a moment the swell- 
ing cry broke into a sharp scream, such as 
might come from one exposed to sudden peril, 
and ceased. Then the sound of a bell rang 
sharply through the house, followed by loud 
knocking at the door and a man’s shout. 

“ Open the door, I command you ! ” he said. 

He must have heard that piercing cry. Rayel 
still lay motionless upon the floor. Was he 
asleep ? Why did he not rise ? I began to 
feel numb. I seemed to have lost the power 
of motion. I could hear some one rapping at 
our door, but I could not move. 

“ Kendric ! Kendric ! Kendric ! ” Was it my 


1 66 THE MASTER OF SILENCE 

stepmother who was calling me ? What a 
piteous, pleading tone! “Let me speak to 
you, Kendric ! For God’s sake, let me tell 
you ! ” I was reeling: my strength had all left 
me. Crash ! went the lamp at my feet. There 
was a great flash of light, which dazzled my 
eyes, and I fell heavily upon the floor. 

I was in the open air when thought and feel- 
ing came back to me. My hands and face 
were paining me as if they had been terribly 
burned. There were a number of men stand- 
ing over a motionless figure that lay beside 
me. 

“ The poor lad !” said one of the men; “ he’s 
nearly roasted. See here how the clothes have 
been burned away from his neck ! Can’t ye 
stop the blood ? The mon’ll die afore the 
amb'lance comes ef we don’t stop the blood. 
A brave mon he is, too. D’ye see ’im coming 
down the stairs with th’ other one on his back ? ” 

Of whom were they talking ? I struggled to 
my feet — I could feel no pain now — and bent 
over that still form which had been lying be- 
side me. Oh ! it was the heaven-blessed face 


THE MASTER OF SILENCE 1 67 

of Rayel, now bleeding and scarred and ghast- 
ly. I raised his head. The hair fell away 
where my hand touched it, and a groan es- 
caped his lips. I could not speak nor weep nor 
utter any sound. A strange calmness came 
over my spirit and I sat there motionless, 
bending over him I loved so well, while the 
crowd of men looked on in silence. “After 
His own image made He man; ” these words 
came to my mind as I looked into that dear 
face. Then I prayed in silence — for him. 
Thank God ! his eyes were open now and his 
lips were moving. I bent lower until I could 
feel his breath upon my cheek. 

“ Is it you, Kendric ?” he whispered. “Did 
I save you from the, fire? I cannot see you, 
but I know you are here.” 

I heard his words distinctly, but I could not 
answer. The power of speech seemed to have 
left me. 

“ The fire awoke me,” he continued, moan- 
ing. “ We were lying on the floor. I called 
to you, but you did not answer. Thank God ! 
you are safe now.” 


1 68 THE MASTER OF SILENCE 

Returning consciousness brought with it an 
increasing sense of his pain, and he began to 
struggle and groan in dreadful agony. Sud- 
denly, extending one of his blackened hands 
until it touched my face, he shouted in a loud 
voice: 

“ Kendric ! Kendric ! help — help me ! ” 

Then some men laid hold of me and lifted 
me up. I clung to Rayel with all my strength, 
but could not resist them, and as I was borne 
away I knew that Rayel and I had parted for- 


ever. 


CHAPTER XVII 


A FTER that midnight parting the first 
^ thing I can recall was the touch of a 
gentle hand upon my face. When my eyes 
opened I saw Hester bending over me. 

“ You are at home now, Kendric,” said she. 
Such a feeling of weakness came over me that 
I could not speak. I thought a nail had been 
driven into my brain, but the tears that began 
rolling down my cheeks and the moans that 
broke from my lips seemed to loosen it. 

Many days passed before I was able to re- 
flect upon this last tragic episode in my life or to 
take any thought of the morrow. One evening 
I awoke from a deep sleep feeling a new inter- 
est in life. There were people sitting in the 
room and talking in low tones. 

“ Has he asked for Rayel yet? ” said one of 
them. 

“ Not yet,” was the answer. 

169 


170 THE MASTER OF SILENCE 

“ Better not let him know about it yet. 
There’s time enough. He’ll be around soon.” 

I called to them and they came quickly to 
my bedside. There were Hester and Mr. Earl 
and his good wife, all looking down upon me 
with smiling faces. 

“ You need not be afraid to tell me now. I 
know that Rayel is dead.” 

They made no answer. 

“ I know he is dead, but tell me how it hap- 
pened,” I said. “ There is no danger; I am 
quite strong now.” 

Mr. Earl took my hand and told me in a 
low, calm voice, all he knew of the tragedy. 
He only knew, however, that the lamp had 
exploded and that Rayel had been horribly 
burned by the oil. 

“ I suppose,” said he, “ that the lamp was on 
a table near his bed when it exploded. In a 
moment the whole room was afire, and you, no 
doubt, being asleep at the time, he lifted you 
up and ran with you down the stairway and 
out of the open door. But in the meantime he 
had been horribly burned, and he fell in a faint 


THE MASTER OF SILENCE 171 

as soon as he reached the pavement. Strange- 
ly enough you were unconscious for some mo- 
ments, although you were not badly burned. 
Probably it was the smoke.” 

Then no one knows, thought I, what really 
did happen that night. The lamp must have 
fallen almost directly upon Rayel’s head, and 
the oil had no doubt saturated his hair and 
clothing. 

“ And the house ? ” I asked. “ Is that — ” 

“ In ashes,” he replied. 

Then every trace of that strange event, which 
no eye save mine had witnessed, was wiped 
out forever. The hideous secret had better 
never be told. * 

“ If I was not badly burned, tell me why I 
have been lying ill.” 

“ Brain fever, my boy,” said he. “ Too 
much excitement, I presume — but you’re out 
of danger now, and will be on your feet again 
in a few days.” 

Fortunately the latter assurance was right- 
ly spoken. The first day that brought me 
strength enough to put on my clothes and 


172 


THE MASTER OF SILENCE 


walk about the house, Mr. Earl invited me 
into the library to talk business. We were no 
sooner seated than he unlocked a drawer and 
handed me a document to read. 

It was a deed of all my father’s real and per- 
sonal property. 

“ They have both confessed,” said he. 

“Confessed what?” I asked, wondering if 
the secret of my father’s death had come out. 

“The conspiracy against your life. There 
were two accomplices — one Count de Montalle, 
formerly a servant of Cobb, and now a convict 
in America, and the other a man named Fen- 
Ion, who is under arrest. TJiese were the men 
who tried to take your life. Fenlon came over 
on the steamer with you, I believe.” 

“ And my stepmother — where is she ? ” 

“ Gone to answer for her sins at a higher 
court,” said he. “ Her last deposition is an- 
nexed to the deed. The old hussy ran into 
the fire like a miller, and stood there scream- 
ing, ‘ Look at that picture on the wall ! Oh, 
God ! do you see it ? ’ she shouted to the fel- 
low who found her standing in the smoke and 


THE MASTER OF SILENCE 


173 


flames. The chap was so excited he really 
thought that he did see the picture of a woman 
holding a knife.” 

“ That is strange, isn’t it ? ” said I. “ Who 
was the man ? ” 

“A detective,” said he, “whom I hired to 
watch the house that night. He heard some 
disturbance, it seems, and, fearing mischief, 
he immediately forced the door open and ran 
pell-mell into your cousin, noble fellow, who 
was then bringing you down-stairs. If he had 
been one moment later the woman would have 
been burned to death, and we would never 
have got this deposition. Cobb wouldn’t have 
been the first to weaken, you may be sure of 
that. But after she had told the whole story, 
why, there was no use in holding out. Badly 
burned ? No, strange to say, she was not bad- 
ly burned, but frightened out of her wits. The 
nervous shock was too much for her and soon 
led to fatal results. Cobb will go to prison.” 

I made no reply. I could not have found 
words to express the thoughts that came 
trooping through my brain. 


i74 


THE MASTER OF SILENCE 


“I have to tell you,” he continued, “that 
your cousin left a will bequeathing to you his 
father’s house and a number of valuable paint- 
ings.” 

I turned away and burning tears of sorrow 
came to my eyes. It was indeed a sad inher- 
itance — the earthly part of his great riches — 
and of little moment to me. I could not bear 
to think or speak of it then, and I begged my 
friend to hide the will from my sight until time 
might give me strength to read it with com- 
posure. 

One evening in early spring Hester and I 
were walking along the shore of the Mediter- 
ranean at Marseilles. I had been traveling 
through southern Europe since my recovery, 
accompanied by Mr. and Mrs. Earl. Hester 
had recently joined us in this ancient city of 
Provence. The sun was sinking below the dis- 
tant horizon of water, and his shafts, glancing 
from the western edge of the sea, shot far into 
the immeasurable reaches above us. We stood 
in silence while the great wall of night loomed 
into the zenith, and then fell westward through 


THE MASTER OF SILENCE 


175 


the luminous slope of heaven. The broad ter- 
race from which we viewed the scene was quite 
deserted. 

“ If it is a hopeless love I cherish, let me 
know it now, Hester,” I said as we turned to 
go. “ I cannot wait any longer.” 

“You can wait half an hour longer, I am 
sure,” she said, hurrying me along. “ We will 
be at home, then.” 

Some months after Hester had become my 
wife we received a call in London from our old 
friend, Mr. Murmurtot. 

“You have been playing in a great life 
drama,” said he to Hester, “ and I, too, have 
had a part in it. Lest you may think that 
it was the fool’s part, let me tell you that I am 
the man who arrested the Count de Montalle.” 

“And the man who brought Fenlon to jus- 
tice ? ” I asked. 

“ The same. He confessed within three 
hours after you were introduced to him.” 

* * * * * * * 

Every week my wife and I visit Rayel’s 


176 THE MASTER OF SILENCE 

grave and strew fresh flowers upon it. A tall 
shaft of marble marks the spot where he lies 
at rest. His name is graven in the stone, and 
underneath it are these words: “ He was a 
man without selfishness or vanity.” 


THE END. 


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Mr. Beard’s reputation as an artist is world -wide, and 


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Concise Cyclopedia of Religious Knowledge.— 

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The Library of American Literature. 1607-1891. 
Compiled and edited by Edmund Clarence Stedmanand 
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